Darcy screamed as both her back window and windshield exploded, splintering into a thousand little fragments of safety glass.
Those bastards were shooting at her now. They were done fucking around. They wanted her dead, and they no longer cared if it was messy.
Well, screw them.
Darcy hunkered down in her seat, gritting her teeth and bearing her full weight on the gas pedal. It didn't do a damn bit of good—her little two-seater was already topped out—but at least she wasn't giving up.
Just up ahead, she could see the sign clearly marking the boundary between the beta world and alpha territory.
She was almost there.
Another shot sounded behind her.
And another.
Darcy's screams had become a hoarse wail, but she kept going…until finally, her tires passed over the line.
And just like that, the cop cars fell back, the last of their gunshots echoing in the night.
The treaties didn't allow beta cops to enter the Boundarylands, not in an official capacity anyway. Of course, Darcy knew first-hand that the Baron brothers didn't care about rules. But apparently, the threat of getting torn apart by beasts twice their size was enough to deter them.
Darcy risked poking her head up just high enough to steal a glance in the rearview mirror. Sure, enough, both police cruisers had pulled to a stop just over the border on the other side.
Darcy let out a gasp of relief, savoring the first deep breath she'd taken in the last twenty-four hours. Especially because it would probably be her last for a while.
Because now she had to figure out what the hell she was going to do next.
The Boundarylands were every bit as dangerous for Darcy as for Scott's brothers. Maybe more so.
After all, everyone knew the only thing alphas liked to do more than kick beta ass was to destroy beta women—throwing them down, riding them hard, and hoping they came out the other side an omega.
And if they didn't—
Darcy shuddered at the thought, but then her anger flamed again and ignited her determination. She didn't plan on surviving the Baron brothers just to end up a broken husk of a woman chained some alpha's bed, that was for damn sure.
Some of that certainty faded as a warning chime sounded, and the fuel indicator lit up on her dash.
Fuck.
She knew she was running low, but she hadn't realized how low until now. It hadn't been her prime concern while she was dodging bullets, and it wasn't like she could pause in the middle of a car chase to top off the tank.
What the hell was she going to do?
Darcy had no idea—and she only had about fifteen miles to figure it out before the well ran dry.
She balled her hands into fists and hammered the steering wheel, cursing every shot of tequila and top-shelf vodka that had led her to think it was a good idea to go home with Scott fucking Baron just twenty-four hours ago.
Unsurprisingly, her little fit of anger didn't help matters.
Especially when she glanced into the rearview mirror to see that the cop cars had doused their headlights and were slowly rolling over the boundary line.
Oh shit.
She hadn't expected that. Darcy knew the Barons would never give up hunting the woman who'd killed their brother, but for some reason, she hadn't expected this. Ignoring the Treaties was tantamount to a suicide mission.
At worst, she'd thought they might call for backup, and there'd be a blockade waiting for her at the other end of the Central Road. Or maybe they'd ditch the cop cars and come looking for her in civilian clothes.
But no.
Apparently, they weren't willing to wait for their vengeance.
Darcy's mind raced as she tried to think of a new plan. Anything would be better than just flinging herself at their feet and begging for mercy.
But there was no other option.
She was stuck—moving deeper into the Boundarylands with every passing second, surrounded by nothing but dense forest and wild alphas, with a couple of bloodthirsty brothers on her tail.
She was well and truly fucked.
Her only hope now was that all her tires would pop at once, and she'd die in a fiery crash rather than a bullet to the head.
Wait.
That honestly wasn't a bad idea.
Not the dying part, of course—but the Barons didn't have to know that. A crashed car, smoke, and fire—it just might provide the distraction she needed. Hell, at this point, Darcy figured it was the only chance she was going to get.
She waited for the next turn in the road, and when the police cruisers had disappeared momentarily from the rearview mirror, she grabbed her heavy purse, wedged it down on the accelerator, and cracked open the door. After whispering a little prayer, she threw herself out the door before she could chicken out.
The air left Darcy's lungs as she hit the ground, loose scree tearing into her bare arms and ripping her clothes. Somehow she managed to stay tucked tight as she rolled, letting the movement absorb the impact. She came to a stop to the sound of twisting metal as her car collided with a tree.
Darcy raised her arms to shield her eyes as she lifted her head…but nothing happened. No fireball, no flames—just the remains of her little car wrapped around the trunk of a towering redwood.
Well, shit. Maybe that sort of thing only happened in movies.
Darcy didn't have time to wallow in disappointment. She pushed herself up to her feet and hobbled into the woods, barely making it out of sight as the cop cars careened around the turn and came to an abrupt stop.
Moving as quietly as she could, Darcy sank to her knees on the loamy forest floor behind some dense shrubs, wincing at a sharp stab of pain in her hips. It seemed she'd taken more damage in that fall than she first realized.
"What the fuck is this?" The sound of Robert Baron's voice sent shivers down Darcy's spine as he stepped out of
