Page 43 of Witch Bound and Down

Chapter 9

Bullseye

Bullseye gripped the Trans Am's steering wheel and forced himself to breathe normally as they pulled back onto the highway. The mating bond was like a constant knife in his chest, getting worse with every mile they put between him and Hazel, but he was determined to push through it. He'd completed impossible runs before. He could complete this one.

"You look like hell," Snowman's voice crackled through the CB radio.

"I'm fine," Bullseye replied, though his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Just focused on the job."

"Uh-huh. And that's why your magic is sparking off your dashboard like a broken power line?"

Bullseye looked down to see blue-white sparks dancing across the Trans Am's interior. He forced his magic back under control with visible effort.

"The job comes first," he said, as much to himself as to Snowman. "It always has."

"Right. Tell that to the mating bond that's currently trying to turn you inside out."

"The mating bond is a distraction," Bullseye said through gritted teeth. "I'll deal with it after we make the delivery."

The pain flared worse, like his magic was rebelling against his own words. He pushed it down and focused on the road ahead. New York was still hours away, but they were making good time. If they kept this pace, they'd make the deadline with time to spare.

"Bull," Snowman's voice was gentler now, "you know this is crazy, right? That woman is your mate. You can't just ignore—"

"I can and I will," Bullseye cut him off. "She made her choice. She went back to her fiancé instead of staying with me. End of story."

"She went back because she was hurt and angry, not because she wanted to."

"Doesn't matter why. What matters is completing the contract."

But even as he said it, Bullseye could feel the bond pulling at him like a fishhook in his chest. Through the connection, he could sense Hazel's misery, her despair, her complete loss of hope. It was making his own magic erratic, interfering with his concentration.

They drove in silence for the next hour, eating up miles on the interstate. The Trans Am purred beneath him, responsive as always, but Bullseye couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not just the mating bond—though that was agony—but something else. Something about the cargo, about the whole situation.

He kept thinking about Hazel's face when she'd seen the Bond Buster crates. The horror, the betrayal, the complete loss of faith in him. And underneath that, the terror at the thought of losing Hopper the way thousands of other witches were about to lose their familiars.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, pressing harder on the accelerator. The speedometer climbed past ninety, then one hundred. Speed had always been his escape, his way of outrunning problems. But the faster he drove, the worse the bond seemed to get.

His CB radio crackled. "Breaker one-nine, this is Moondog. Y'all better slow it down out there. Word is the Smokies are setting up a speed trap about ten miles ahead of your position."

"Copy that, Moondog," Bullseye replied, easing off the gas. "Much obliged."

"No problem, good buddy. Oh, and Bull? You might want to check your six. Got some interesting traffic coming up behind you."

Bullseye glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a vehicle approaching fast. Very fast. It was some kind of modified ambulance, painted in racing stripes and moving like it had rocket boosters instead of an engine.

As he watched, the ambulance pulled into the left lane and began to pass him. Not just pass—blow by him like he was standing still. Bullseye looked at his speedometer. He was doing ninety-five miles per hour, and this ambulance was passing him like he was driving a golf cart.

"What the hell?" he said, grabbing his CB radio. "Breaker one-nine, this is Bullseye calling the souped-up meat wagon. Come back."

The radio crackled with a deep, gravelly voice that sounded distinctly orcish. "That's a big 10-4, Bullseye. This here's JJ, and I got my hammer down trying to make some time."

"JJ, this is Bullseye. Mind if I ask what's got you in such a hurry? Because you just passed me doing at least one-twenty."

"Aw, hell, you're Bullseye Maverick?" The orc's voice perked up with interest. "The Bullseye? Well, I'll be damned. I'm just out here practicing for the Cauldron Ball Run next month. Figured I'd test my rig against some of the local traffic."

"Cauldron Ball Run?"

"Cross-country magical vehicle race. Winner takes home fifty thousand gold pieces and bragging rights. You ever think about entering? I bet that Trans Am of yours could give my bus a run for its money."

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