“Bedlam, no one’s going to hurt me.”
I realize my mistake too late when he pushes his hips against mine. An involuntary moan leaves my throat. The situation is going to a bad place fast. If he succeeds in distracting me with sex, I’ll never leave. I gather what little wits I have left.
“You’ve always been so strong.” He leans away so we’re face-to-face when he speaks again. “There’s really no breaking you, is there?”
“Of all people, you should know better than that.” My voice is breathy, almost unrecognizable. For a moment I doubt Bedlam will buy what I’m selling. But I go for it anyway. “Now, let go of my wrists. I want to touch you.”
He doesn’t hesitate, moving one hand to the button of my jeans and the other adjusting the bandages on his face. Once freed, I don’t think twice either. I reach behind me and pull out the screw. Unfortunately, Bedlam feels the point when I bring it to his side. I should have prepared for the sensitivity of his body to blades. He pushes hard against me, pressing all his masculine weight against my body.
“I should have anticipated the bucket.” He grimaces.
I swallow. “Bedlam,” I say, “just let me go. No one has to get hurt.”
He glances at my weapon on his side that I’ve angled in such a way that if I flick my wrist, the blade will slide between his ribs and straight to his heart. Instead of backing away or taking the screw, he leans in until his face hovers an inch above mine. “Do it. It’s the only way I’ll allow you out of here.”
In a smooth plunge, the sharpened point of the screw goes in. Bedlam’s eye widens. I use the wall as leverage to lift my foot and kick him away. I double over to catch my breath as he crumples to the floor. Every inhale comes in hard and ragged, poking at my lungs like ice picks, while the exhale makes me feel like I’m drowning.
“Don’t worry, I missed your heart on purpose,” I rasp. “Call it a parting gift for sticking me in here.”
“Then you should just kill me,” he groans. Oh, he can stop me if he wants to. He certainly has the strength to. But all I have to do is pull out the screw and he’ll bleed out faster than a poked tire.
“I don’t want your death on my conscience.” I head for the door, sidestepping him just in case he’s feeling suicidal. “But I wouldn’t pull it out unless you want to bleed.”
“RC, don’t leave,” he pleads, closing a hand around my ankle. “You’re not safe out there.”
Without mercy, I use the same leg he’s holding to deliver a vicious kick across his face. He rolls to his side, clutching at the shiv stuck there. I don’t look back when I make a run for it. I climb the stairs and head for his garage. Lifting one of the keys hanging from a hook by the entrance, I make a beeline for the 500cc street bike he keeps around. The garage doors automatically open, responding to a sensor connected to the hooks.
Impressed, I swing my leg over the bike. Not bothering with a helmet, I kick-start the engine, pump the gas, and barrel out of Bedlam’s townhouse. I make a mental note to call for help for him when I reach the garage. I’m not a total monster.
The dark sky tells me nothing more than it’s after sundown. From the lack of vehicles on the road, maybe it’s the middle of the night. Who knows? I’m free. That’s all that matters. My hair flaps in the wind as I pick up speed. A silly grin stretches across my face.
It’s not long until the distinctive chain-like engine rumble of a GT-R reaches my ears despite the air zooming past me. I recognize the unmistakable throaty exhale and the slight spit of its exhaust. I don’t know all the cars at the Gathering, but I’d definitely recognize a GT-R. Soon headlights stream from behind me. I move the bike to the side of the road to let the boxy front-heavy demon pass. There’s no way I can beat it on a straightaway in a motorcycle, even with 500 cc’s of power between my legs.
I leave midtown behind when the headlights flash. A challenge. My heart skips. What the hell is the driver up to? I squint at the side mirror.
In a sudden burst of speed, it taps the rear wheel of the bike, sending me jerking forward. Shit. This isn’t a challenge.
Gripping the bike with my thighs, I accelerate and pull away. I don’t have time to process the reasons behind the situation I’m in. The GT-R easily matches my speed as if I’m pedaling a regular bike. No good. This is totally not my night.
The demon of a car rams into me again just when I exit a corner, and the bike tips forward. Without a helmet to protect my head, instinct kicks in, and I curl into a ball as I sail into the air. The bike bounces on the pavement like a rubber tire. The ugly crunch of metal fills my ears as I land on my back. All the air from my lungs detonates in a sickening oof. The momentum of my fall brings my body into a barrel roll that only stops when I drop into a ditch.
A wave of nausea assails my senses. I must have hit the back of my head despite my efforts to keep it covered. I blink several times. My vision tunnels, then blurs. I must have a cut on my forehead because blood tints one eye red. Disoriented, I attempt to sit up, but my body refuses to cooperate with my brain. The smell of exhaust fills each painful inhale. I touch my side and cry out.
