“Sinclair,” Dom snapped.
“You know what, maybe this should just be over,” Jesse retorted. No point trying to get Dom to like him, if Dom was just going to end up hurting him.
He was in the middle of turning the bike around, about to leave, when a black car pulled into the parking lot, headlights off. The windows were tinted, one halfway rolled down.
A gun muzzle pointed right at them.
Alarm clawed through Jesse’s nerves. Larson was here. He was here to capture Jesse, and put him back on the operating table.
Jesse sucked in a deep breath, trying not to panic. He thought about yesterday. Dom giving him power. You can be strong. You’re strong. Remember you can do anything?
He could leave, and let the car chase him down. But what if Larson shot Dom first? What if he killed Dom?
Ice sluiced down Jesse’s spine. He pulled the bike around, placing himself between Dom and the car.
“Sinclair,” Dom muttered. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Protecting you, Jesse didn’t say. No point. “Get in the truck.”
“You’re coming with me.”
With each moment, the car crept closer, gravel crunching under its tires. Jesse was no longer in the line of sight between Dom and the gun. Dom swore. He’d seen the gun, then.
Jesse threw down the kickstand, climbing off his bike. He put himself between Dom and the gun again.
“What the fuck, Sinclair.”
“Get in the truck, now.” Why was Dom being an idiot?
Dom grabbed his arm. A gunshot rang out; the truck pinged. When Jesse looked again, there was a bullet hole in the side of the truck, punched clean through the metal.
“Fucking leave right now, Dom.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Dom snarled.
“They won’t kill me,” Jesse snapped. “But they will fucking kill you.”
What were the chances of Jesse walking closer, shooting Larson in the head point-blank? But was Larson the one doing the shooting, or was he driving? Or was he even in the car at all?
Jesse would go ahead and find out, except the moment they took him down, Dom would be absolutely defenseless.
“Sinclair,” Dom snapped.
Jesse only half-heard it through the adrenaline. He yanked his gun out. “Not going. Now fucking get out of here, before I shoot you myself.”
Dom snarled. He strode forward, snatching the gun out of Jesse’s hand. To Jesse’s horror, Dom stepped in front of him, shooting at the wheels of the car. One popped. Then the rifle moved, and Jesse knew the second before they pulled the trigger.
He threw himself in front of Dom. An impact went straight into his back like a hard punch, and pain sluiced white-hot through his body.
“Fuck, Sinclair.” Dom lowered the gun, shoving Jesse up against the truck. Panic flashed in his eyes. Jesse heaved him off, placing himself back between Dom and the car.
“I’m fine,” Jesse gritted, breathing out the pain. “Fucking get out before they pull the tranqs. They’ll save me from an OD. They won’t fucking save you.”
“I won’t leave you.” Dom’s gaze scorched into him.
“Please.” Jesse tightened his fists in Dom’s shirt. Stop being an idiot, Dom. “I’m begging you. Go.”
He shoved Dom backward, pulling the truck door open. Then he rammed Dom into the passenger seat cavity—where he’d be safe.
“Sinclair—”
“We won’t both make it out of here. I’m buying you time. Get. Out.”
They exchanged a heated glare. Dom’s lips thinned. Then he reached into the opening of the helmet, rubbing his thumb across Jesse’s mouth.
“Stay alive,” Dom growled. “I’ll get help.”
Good enough. Jesse peeled away, rounding the truck so the occupants of the black car could see him again. He pulled his helmet off, tossing it aside. Then, just in case they couldn’t recognize him, he pulled his shirt off, too. Leaving all his scars exposed.
Behind, Dom started the truck engine. Jesse stepped closer to the car, in front of the gun muzzle so there was no way they could point it at Dom.
Another gun appeared—smaller, simpler. A tranquilizer gun. Panic bubbled into Jesse’s veins. He knew where this was headed. He knew he only had half a minute before he went down, and Dom would lose any time Jesse could buy him.
Behind, the truck reversed. There was a pause. Jesse felt the heat of Dom’s stare. Then the rifle swiveled and fired, and Jesse panicked, diving for it, trying to stop them from shooting at the truck.
With a roar, the truck drove away, at the same time the tranquilizer gun popped. A dart embedded itself into Jesse’s chest. He ripped it out, flinging it aside. Another dart flew at him. The rifle fired again—all that mattered was that the truck kept going, even as more darts landed in Jesse’s arms, pumping him full of drugs. He ripped them all out.
Then he listened as the truck turned out of the parking lot, rumbling down the road. Away from here.
And it didn’t matter so much that Jesse couldn’t stand upright anymore. Dom was safe.
He staggered, trying to keep his feet under himself. He couldn’t. The gravel came up to meet him, and Jesse smashed into the rough ground, his head swimming, his vision fogging up.
Voices murmured in the distance. Car doors slammed. Jesse closed his eyes, the pain in his body fading away.
For the first time, captivity had been his choice. And he didn’t regret it at all.
27
Dom Tries To Save Jesse
Every last instinct screamed at Dom to turn the truck around. Head back. Grab Sinclair and get him out of there.
He desperately wanted to. It had ripped him apart, hearing the gunshots. Watching Sinclair in his side view mirrors, Sinclair pulling tiny dart-like things off his skin.
Please, Sinclair had said. I’m begging you.
Dom could count on one hand the number of times Sinclair had begged him for anything. It didn’t make this right.
But Sinclair had seemed so damn certain that they’d kill Dom. Without knowing what else was in that car, Dom couldn’t say he was wrong. If Dom had grabbed Sinclair and driven off, the guys in the
