Page 6 of Heir of Ashes

Staggering out of the room, I made my way to Thunder. Two motorcycles and a black Range Rover were parked near my truck. The reception guy was crouched by the dim office door, talking urgently on a cellphone. He saw me and stood, dressed in nothing but boxer briefs, his belly protruding forward, his torso and legs bare to the chill wind. He crouched again when something back in room thirteen broke with a loud crash. Probably the TV.

“They’re shootin’ and breakin’ everythin’! Just send someone, damn ya!” he shouted into his cellphone. “One of them is runnin’!” he screamed in outrage, watching me go.

Not wanting to find out who he was talking to, I went around to the truck’s bed as fast as my battered body allowed, grateful that the lights outside room thirteen had burned out. With trembling fingers, I uncovered the extra key I had glued under the leather carpet in case of emergencies. Every muscle in my body throbbed, forcing me to hunch over, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

I had difficulties pressing the clutch and gas pedals, but I clenched my teeth and backed out of the parking lot, tires screeching. I drove away, drunkenly taking exit ramps and coming back to the highway, meandering around in a zigzag motion, keeping a wary eye for any black Range Rovers or motorcycles. Why had Logan helped me? Was that a fight for the bounty the PSS had placed on me?

Up ahead, I spotted the flickering lights of a gas station and decided to risk stopping. I parked in a dim corner and crawled with some difficulty to the backseat where I kept my duffel, shrugged on a jacket, and pushed my feet into my spare pair of boots.

I headed for the bathroom first. The harsh lighting stabbed my eyes, making me squint. I winced at my reflection. The face that stared back at me was pale, paler than usual, and my black eyes were glazed, both from the close call and the pain. One of the kicks had definitely hit my face before I had enough sense to cover my head, because my right cheek was swollen and turning purple. I healed fast, faster than an ordinary human, but the process of healing was the same for me as anyone else.

My red hair—now with three inches of black roots—was a wild mess, and I tried to pat it down. I washed my face with cold water, my cheeks protesting with throbbing vengeance. I lookedlike hell, and I felt even worse. I tucked my shirt inside my pants, buttoned my denim jacket all the way to cover the blood, and surveyed myself in the mirror. I was still hunched to the left, and when I straightened, a hot, fiery pain shot through my side. Yet it was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I probed my ribs. I barely managed to suppress a scream of agony, hissing through gritted teeth instead. I wanted desperately to curl up in a dim corner and bawl until I was numb, but I couldn’t afford that luxury.

I breathed in and out, inhaling through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth, willing the pain to subside. When it finally eased, I made my way to the grocery store next door as fast as I could. I was aware of places in my body I had never felt before. I grabbed some painkillers first, opened the bottle, and dry-swallowed six pills. Then I grabbed some snacks and soft drinks and went to pay for my purchases. The guy manning the register gave me some dubious looks but said nothing. I paid and left in a hurry, afraid that whoever had won the fight back in the motel would be right behind me. I drove for the rest of the night and half the next day, then parked behind a deserted factory where I reclined my seat and promptly fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

***

It was fully dark when I awoke. My head pounded in sync with my pulse and my body still ached horribly. I downed six more painkillers, chewed on a power bar, and washed it down with one of the soft drinks before getting back on the road.

An hour in, the truck began making the same grinding noise as before, only louder this time. I ignored it, even as unease twisted my gut. The road stretched out ahead, dark and cold under a sky mostly clear of clouds. I hadn’t seen another vehicle for a long while. Two hours into the drive, the trucksputtered, coughed, and gray smoke began to curl out from under the hood.

“Hell, not now,” I muttered. I got out to check the damage, having to punch the hood a few times and jostling a few forgotten aches, before it finally gave. I was welcomed by a cloud of thick smoke that obscured my view of the engine for a second, keeping me from noticing the fire at first.

I backed away and dashed for the fire extinguisher that, to my dismay and growing frustration, was missing from the holder. I cursed as I grabbed my duffel and my snacks, and hurried away. I was only about a hundred yards away when Thunder exploded. I didn’t look back.

I tried hitchhiking, but the occasional trucks that passed never stopped. All the gentlemen of the world seemed to be gone. I kept walking, each step a battle of willpower.

Three hours after my truck blew, I heard the rumble of a sixteen-wheeler approaching. I raised my thumb, holding my breath, silently begging for it to stop. After a second, it began to slow and I exhaled in relief, the hope to rest making my exhaustion more pronounced. But as soon as the cab drew level with me, the driver blasted the horn, one long key, effectively deafening me. I could almost hear the driver’s cruel cackling before the sixteen-wheeler roared off, leaving me alone on the dark, empty road once more.

My ears buzzed, the sound ricocheting inside my head like a frantic pinball. I screamed in frustration. What happened to those people who couldn’t help but stop for a lone woman stranded on a desert road at night? Miserable and cold, aching all over, I trudged—more shuffled really—for maybe another hour, until I realized I was wheezing and hunched over.

I searched the dark desert on both sides of the road for a place I could spend the night. There was nothing. Nothing but a lonely cactus. But really, what was I looking for? A tent with awarm bedroll? If I wanted to sleep unnoticed by the occasional vehicle, I wouldn’t have to walk far into the desert, but I’d have to be up before morning or I’d stand out in the sea of sand like a verdant tree. I’d be in more danger from a rattlesnake or whatever lurked out there. In my current state, I’d probably die without even knowing I had been bitten.

I eyed the dark desert and contemplated my options. Fatigue won out, and I was making my way into the desert when I heard the low rumble of an approaching engine. I almost sagged with relief before I remembered the world was filled with assholes like the driver of the sixteen-wheeler. I stuck my thumb out anyway and watched the blinding lights reach me. When they did, I mentally kicked myself for not taking my chances with nature five minutes earlier. Because there was nowhere to run, I waited until the passenger door opened … only to find myself staring down the barrel of Logan’s gun.

Chapter 4

The little jolt of fear that zinged through me was skillfully hidden under a blank façade.

“Get in,” he snapped tightly. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes held annoyance and irritation, but no anger or hints of crazed triumph. I gathered two things in that instance: one, if he was going to shoot me, he would have done it the moment the door opened and two, that meant he didn’t want me dead.

I eyed him and was proud my gaze didn’t waver. My hesitation only seemed to irritate him more, although I guessed his crankiness stemmed from following me around for the past few days. I weighed my options. I had this curious hunch and was tired and aching enough to not think better of it, so I turned my back on him and walked—shuffled—away, even as my body begged for the warm comfort the Range Rover could provide for a few hours.

He cursed under his breath, muttering something that sounded a lot like “stubborn twit” before cutting the engine and slamming his door shut.

“Don’t force me to shoot,” he growled.

I ignored him until I heard the safety of the gun click off. Slowly, heart hammering with belated adrenaline, I turned to face him. His irritation had morphed into anger, tinged with resignation. Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe the bounty was more substantial if I was caught alive. Why was he using a gun? Why wasn’t he trying to overpower me?

I eyed his aura and wondered if I had misread it.

“In,” he barked. There was a dark bruise under his left eye that hadn’t been there when I met him in the food court.

“I don’t think you want me dead, or else you’d have killed me already,” I pointed out—maybe too boldly.

“You’re right. I don’t want you dead,” he conceded. “But I won’t hesitate to disable you. In fact, if you’re not able to walk or run …” He shrugged a shoulder, lowered the gun, and aimed at my leg. “Now, get in.”

I looked at him, at the car, and wondered if I could strike him while he drove. Then I could push him out and hijack it.

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