Page 172 of Severed Rivalry
Who the hell kidnaps someone at a restaurant? Or a nail salon? I only stopped because he said FBI. But I knew. I knew in my gut that something was wrong.
The FBI doesn’t kidnap women. If they do, I’ll expose that shit too.
My mind spins on the ways to expose it, the firewalls to breach, the way to share the data publicly. I’d probably be arrested for treason, but if that’s treason, so is kidnapping Americans from nail salons, so…
I repeat the license plate number of the SUV I was tossed into over and over until it’s burned in my brain. Then I do the same with the one following us.
At this point, they’ll be cannon for me.
Another vehicle passes us. It’s surprising because we’ve been speeding since we got out of Denver traffic. Somewhere around Firestone, the driver decided to roll on the throttle.
I know that truck. Not just the license plate, thetruck. He pulls in front of us and slows just a bit, forcing our caravan to do the same.
The driver swears and yanks toward the passing lane just in time to see a police officer in the center median and hit the brakes. Guilty, motherfucker.
The reds and blues whip on behind us. True to his dumb nature, the driver lays it down and races on ahead.
We leave Cian in the dust. Just as we do Renée in the SUV behind him.
50
cold cruelty
Cian
“You got him?” Liam asks.
“You good?”
“Good. Do it.” He slides into the passing lane, in plain sight, blocking any hope for the driver to skirt past me.
“Be smart.” My voice rises as I jab the brakes.
My nose dips, and the truck’s tail end lifts with the frozen momentum, just as the SUV does the same. He hits me with a force that will hurt in the morning.
Liam gives me a two-fingered wave as he speeds right by in pursuit of the first vehicle in the convoy.
I come to a complete stop, pull my pistol from the center console, and check my rearview and side mirrors.
Airbags block my view. Their deployment is good for whichever of my girls needed them, but sucks for me because I’m blind.
Sliding from the truck, I keep low as cars pass us, honking at the inconvenience I’ve presented them with. I want to yell, “Get the fuck over it.” Instead, I move to the passenger side rear and hope like all hell I didn’t just set myself up for a lawsuit over insurance fraud.
I yank the door open, and Renée tumbles out. She’s bleeding and ashen and, for one heartbeat, the shock freezes me.
Then I scoop her up, running her to the driver’s seat of my vehicle and strap her in.
Fluttering movement near the airbags catches my eye and I aim the gun at the front tires, first the passenger’s, then the driver’s.
I spend no more time or thought on the fucker, but floor it. My tailgate is askew, and the rear axle is fucked, but I don’t care.
I make it to an emergency room in Loveland before I dial Liam.
He never answers.
Sariah
The only warning I get is the barricade of Colorado State Police cruisers, lights and sirens deployed, and the officers milling alongside those vehicles. They’d only be so casual if they knew they had the upper hand.
