Page 29 of Heir of Ashes

Logan hesitated, obviously wrestling with an inner debate, then grunted when he reached a decision. He dug inside his pockets and then his lower back, came out with his gun and two clips, and placed them on his lap. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When he looked at me, goosebumps broke all over my body. Because his eyes … they were empty. There was no trace of humanity, no warmth. Just the cold, detached gaze of a killer. His composure was calm, but not relaxed. He was prepared to kill and not feel.

God, what was I doing here with someone like him?

“When I tell you,” he said with no inflection, “take control of the wheel. Keep going, no matter what happens. Can you do that?”

My lips moved, but no words came out. I swallowed, uncertain. His expression flickered, softening a bit.

“Can you do that?” he asked again.

I finally nodded and unhooked the sling from around my neck. Whatever his past, his profession, today, in this moment, he was here to help.

He lowered his window all the way, letting in the warm breath of the desert, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then made a U-turn, this time with some difficulty.

We picked up speed, but not fast enough with two of the tires already flat. The flopping of rubber on asphalt was loud as Logan struggled to keep us on course. We veered right off the road, about two hundred yards away from the first SUV. When the second SUV started to follow, Logan shouted for me to takethe steering wheel while he twisted in his seat and took aim, propping the hand with the gun with his other before shooting a few times in quick succession.

The SUV stopped abruptly—the two front tires deflating with Logan’s bullets. Meanwhile, the side door of the first SUV ahead slid open. Two men climbed out, carrying long-barreled guns in their hands.

As the two men raised their rifles or shotguns—I really couldn’t tell the difference—Logan shouted, “Down! Keep your head down!” and took aim again.

I lowered my head as much as possible while still seeing ahead. I had the steering wheel gripped in both hands and struggled to keep it going.

Flop-flop-flop-flop. The tires grumbled loudly, mocking my efforts.

Logan’s foot still pressed the gas pedal flat on the floor. “Make a beeline and go back to the road as soon as we pass them!” Logan shouted.

I nodded. My throat was too dry to form any words. A monster I might be, with all these extraordinary abilities—super strength and speed—but at heart, I was just as ordinary as the next person.

Logan’s gun barked out a sharp bam-bam, but there was no return fire. Had he killed them? We were close enough that it would be hard to miss. Unable to help myself, I took a quick peek and saw they were still standing, apparently unharmed. Logan fired again, and the bullets froze mid-air and fell to the ground. That’s when I recognized one of the two men.

Kincaid. He was the PSS’s only preternatural full-time employee. He was also an air mage.

Shit.

Logan spat out a string of curses that would have made a gangster blush, followed by two more shots. No one shot at us,though their weapons were raised and at the ready. If Kincaid was shielding bullets from getting to them, then they couldn’t shoot us either. That wasn’t good. We passed by the SUV and … nothing.

That, on its own, should have warned me.

Above me, Logan changed the clip and resumed firing. We had hardly moved a few yards past the SUV when we hit something solid. There was a blinding flash of light, accompanied by the loud sound of metal bending and shattering glass.

Chapter 11

Stunned, I barely registered when Logan’s body crashed into mine, even as the airbag pushed me back into him. I screamed, my shoulder dislocating again, and something sharp slashed my forehead.

Logan jerked when a tranquilizer dart hit him and suddenly, his body relaxed against mine, even as I pushed him back to give myself breathing room. Running footsteps closed in on us, and my mind cleared.

“Don’t shoot!” I shouted, giving myself enough room to move my head but not much else as I opened both my empty hands on the steering wheel. “I’m unarmed. Please don’t shoot.”

Someone opened the driver’s door at the same time the passenger door was yanked open. I tilted my head to look.

“Out,” the beady-eyed guard barked at me, the barrel of his tranquilizer gun pointed at my side.

Slowly, aware that he’d shoot me if I made any sudden movement, I struggled to pull myself free from Logan’s prone body.

From the driver side, Kincaid reached in, undid Logan’s seat belt, and pulled him out of the car with efficient, economic tugs. I climbed out with deliberate slowness, my fingers splayed, then waited for Beady Eye’s next command. One of the SUVs parked some twenty yards away. No sooner had it stopped, than two guards jumped out and rushed over. Beady Eyes clamped a blocking bracelet over my left wrist, then shackled me with the reinforced steel manacles.

“Move,” he ordered, jerking his head to the SUV.

I made my way towards it, my posture stiff despite the pain radiating from my head and shoulder. Warm blood trickled down my face from the gash on my forehead, metallic and sticky.Never show weakness. Never show weakness. Never show weakness.My motto back when I was in the PSS came back with alarming familiarity.Never show weakness. The words echoed in my mind like a prayer.

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