always take him in a fistfight. Remember the look on his face when you knocked him on his ass that time?”
“Yes.”
The expressway cleared out along a stretch that curved sharply to the left. It glistened with a thick layer of water tainted by a mix of oil and any number of fluids dripping from the hundreds of cars using the road on a daily basis.
“So you must be one of these guys that Rico’s talking about, right, Steve?” she asked while glancing back and forth between the mirror and the road. “I figure that has to be the case since you seem to be so familiar with Lancroft.”
“I never said that.”
“No, but you called him
“I …am one of his followers,” Steve admitted.
Although Paige believed that implicitly, she held onto her underlying train of thought. “And what about you, Rico? You must have known this guy for years to let him boss you around that way.”
“I—”
“He has,” Steve interrupted.
Rico nodded. “Yeah, I have.”
“Funny how you never mentioned him.” Gripping the steering wheel, Paige added, “It’s also funny how both of us go along with whatever this asshole says as long as he tells us to. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t request. He orders us, Rico. Last time I checked, neither one of us takes orders too well.” As she said that, she looked into the rearview mirror. She wouldn’t have taken her eyes off it even if that meant slamming into the back end of a bus. That way, she was sure to see any more flickers in Steve’s reflection. Fortunately, it didn’t take long before she saw that very thing.
“She’s trying to talk her way out of this so she can kill you!” Steve said. “You have to shoot her!”
“See?” Paige mused with a calmness that came from finally taking back the reins, even if those reins were connected to a team of rabid, stampeding horses. “Not even orders. He tells you things and you believe them.” Meeting Steve’s gaze in the mirror, she asked, “Is that why Lancroft had to lock you up in a cage two levels beneath his home in Philly and throw away the key? You’re just too slippery for him to risk—”
“You have to kill her!” Although Steve was the one who started that statement, it was Kawosa who finished it. The shapeshifter had been in Lancroft’s custody possibly longer than anyone or anything else, which pushed his confinement past the two hundred year mark. After being busted out by a group of Full Bloods and Mongrels, Kawosa had demonstrated his talents on more than one occasion. All Paige had been able to find out about him was that he was known as the First Deceiver, and possibly was the mold from which all shapeshifters were cast. Even knowing that, however, she’d still been taken in by his oily words. All of which raced through her mind as she looked over to see the commitment in Rico’s eyes. He had to kill her.
She flicked the switch to unlock the car door and cranked the steering wheel hard to the left. The vehicle had already been moving that way to follow the curve of the expressway, but her sudden movement pitched it into a swerving fishtail.
“What in the—” was all Rico could say before being thrown against his door.
Paige already had her door open as the car lost its last bit of control. Before she had a chance to think any better of it, she leaned to the left, forced the door open the rest of the way, and twisted her body around as she tumbled outside. Behind her the Mossberg let out a furious roar that spat buckshot, ripping several burning wounds along her hip and leg. But any pain from that was quickly washed away by her impact against the pavement.
Ever since she’d been wounded, Paige had seesawed between wanting to push through the affliction that hardened the muscles in her arm into a rigid, unfeeling mass or hack it off at the shoulder. Diligent exercise and base-level stubbornness had allowed her to regain most of her mobility, but it wasn’t until now that she was grateful for what had happened. In fact, she was praying that her near-petrified limb was as unyielding as the rest of her.
She hit the expressway on her side, just as she’d planned.
Her arm smashed against the pavement first, just as she’d hoped.
There was no way to plan for the pain that followed, and all she could do was hope it didn’t stop too soon. A sharp bout of numbness after jumping from a moving car was most definitely not a good thing.
Horns wailed around her. The screeching of nearby tires came from the car she’d just left as well as from several others that had to swerve to avoid it. Engines roared from every direction, giving her more than enough incentive to roll toward the narrow median of the expressway. Unfortunately, momentum was still making it damn near impossible to steer her body.
Using her wounded limb as a narrow sled, she kicked at the ground and resisted the urge to reach out with her good hand to slow her progress into traffic. She made a fist, gnashed her teeth and allowed herself to cry out as the uppermost layers of her arm were stripped away. Finally, her leg slapped against the ground and she came to a halt.
Several yards ahead, metal wrapped around a cement divider as the rental car found a guardrail at the edge of the expressway. So much for that deposit. Sparks were still flying when Kawosa exploded from the back window. His arms were held in front of his face and his skinny, ragged body came through the bent opening as if he’d been catapulted toward the street. Either she had convinced herself to see through the mask or Kawosa was no longer wearing it, because he now had the slender build of a short man with long, raven-black hair, clad in filthy rawhide leggings and a beaded necklace flapping around his neck. After shifting into the body of a gangly coyote, he hopped onto the guardrail and skittered along its uneven surface back in the direction from which they’d driven.
Too stunned to try standing up just yet, Paige dragged herself toward the middle of the expressway. A narrow oasis beckoned as glaring headlights washed over her. She closed her eyes, lowered her head and let out a vicious groan as a Grim Reaper on four bald tires rolled straight at her. The car blared its horn, swerved to the right and screeched a few inches from her feet. The continued sound of its horn was added to the honking chorus around her as she moved on. No time to be thankful.
The median was barely wider than Paige’s torso. It was a long speed bump running along the center of the expressway, dotted with the occasional cement divider. She rolled onto her side, reached for the Beretta at her hip and came up empty. The gun and holster must have been peeled away somewhere during her tumble. At least the weapon had provided some much needed cushioning for the fall. She shifted her search toward the shoulder holster. That one was still there, but it was torn up pretty badly. She drew the pistol and aimed it at the car wreck while pulling herself up to her feet.
Even with the healing serum flowing through her veins, she was hurting. The body armor she’d worn to raid Cobb’s house had come in more useful now than when she’d been wading through a room full of angry Nymar. Much of the tactical vest had been shredded, exposing the Half Breed hide underneath. That left the hardened shell of the vest itself, which did its job nicely by preventing her skin from being peeled away. Since there was no sign of Rico yet, she took a quick peek at her right arm. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.
It had been a while since that arm was normal. She’d been injured some time ago, but being able to move it normally and feel a full range of sensation through it was just a fond memory. Her most recent gamble had worked in that her arm withstood the punishment of her fall. Like the tactical vest, the outer layers were stripped away, revealing the true extent of the injury she’d received in Kansas City. Flesh had been frozen into a hardened shell that looked more like a crude sketch of human anatomy instead of the real thing. Blood was caked onto it like an old stain made by cheap, flaking red paint, and when she flexed her arm tentatively, the veins barely shifted within the mess. Paige couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. She didn’t even want to know how much of her arm was being preserved by the healing serum and how much was simply kept in its petrified state by whatever toxins were still inside of her.
Another car horn, followed by a familiar voice snarling viciously at the twisted metal around him, was all she needed to get back on the proper track. Her legs hurt but were still moving and supporting her weight. Because of the healing serum produced within her bloodstream, the pain filling her entire body ignited her resolve, instead of crippling her like it would a normal person. When she hobbled into the next lane to take advantage of a small opening between approaching cars, she only glanced occasionally to either side. Compared to what she’d left behind, oncoming traffic was the least of her worries.
