Branches whipped across my arms as we tore through the trees. The path was barely a path at all—just a tangle of roots and mud—but Cole rode like he could see in the dark. I clung to him, my face pressed against his shoulder, every bump jolting through my ribs.
"They're right behind us!" I shouted.
"I know."
"Do something about it!"
"Working on it."
Bullets cracked through the night. One hit a tree trunk so close that bark sprayed my cheek. I bit down a scream. The engine screamed back, climbing higher, faster, until I could hardly tell where the road ended and sky began.
Cole swerved left, down a slope. The tires slid, then caught again. He gunned the throttle, bursting out of the woods onto another stretch of highway that cut between two hills. For a second, the world widened, and I could breathe.
"Lose them yet?" I asked.
"Not quite."
Headlights flared behind us again. Two trucks. Maybe three.
"What do they want from me?" I cried.
"Same thing they wanted on the cliff—leverage."
"Leverage? Against who?"
"Your father."
That name hit harder than the wind. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Everything," he said flatly.
Before I could press him, one of the trucks pulled beside us. A man leaned out the passenger window, aiming a rifle. I ducked instinctively.
"Cole!"
"I see him."
He dropped a gear, swerved hard, and the motorcycle skimmed the truck's side with a squeal of metal. Sparks flew. The gunman lost his balance and fell back inside. Cole accelerated again, the front wheel lifting slightly off the asphalt.
"Are you insane?" I yelled.
"Mostly functional."
I almost laughed—almost—but another truck came up fast, trying to box us in. Cole leaned forward, muttering something I couldn't hear, then jerked the bike onto a side service ramp. The tires hit the incline, and we flew upward onto an unfinished overpass.
Concrete barriers loomed on both sides. I looked down—far, far down—and my stomach flipped. "There's no road here!"
"There's enough," he said.
The first truck tried to follow. It didn't make the turn; the sound of twisting metal echoed below. Cole kept going, weaving through abandoned construction equipment until the ramp ended in open air—a dead end.
He braked hard. Gravel scattered. The bike skidded to a stop a few feet from the drop. My heart stopped with it.
Behind us, the remaining truck roared closer.
"We're trapped!" I said.
He didn't answer, scanning the edge of the overpass like he was calculating.
"No, no, no—don't even think about it," I warned. "That's a fifty-foot drop!"
He turned his head slightly, a hint of a grin ghosting across his face. "Forty-two."
"That's not better!"
The truck's headlights filled the lane behind us. The men were shouting, doors opening.
"Trust me?" he asked.
"I just met you!"
"Good enough."
He revved the engine and gunned it straight for the edge.
I screamed as the world disappeared beneath us. For a heartbeat, we were weightless—the bike, the air, my breath—all hanging in the dark.
Then we hit water.
The impact slammed every thought out of me. Cold swallowed us whole. I kicked, choking, grabbing for anything. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me upward. We broke the surface gasping, the motorcycle sinking somewhere below.
Lights glared from the bridge above, voices echoing faintly. Cole tugged me toward the shadowed bank.
"Keep quiet," he whispered. "They'll look for bodies."
We crawled onto the shore, soaked and shaking. My dress clung to me; my hair was plastered across my face. He pulled off his jacket, wrung it once, and tossed it over my shoulders without a word.
The world had narrowed to the sound of dripping water and my own ragged breathing.
"What now?" I asked.
"Now," he said, "you disappear."
"Disappear?"
"You were the target tonight. Whoever sent them won't stop until they think you're dead."
I stared at him. "And you expect me to just vanish?"
"It's safer than the alternative."
"Who are you really?" I demanded. "You don't work for my father, do you?"
He met my eyes, gray and unreadable. "Not anymore."
Before I could ask what that meant, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—just once—and every line of his face tightened. Without saying a word, he tossed the phone into the river.
"What was that?"
"Tracker," he said. "They knew where we were every second."
My stomach twisted. "So they'll find us again."
"Not tonight." He stood, offering his hand to help me up. "Come on. There's an old cabin a few miles through those woods."
I took his hand reluctantly. "And after that?"
"After that," he said, "we start figuring out who tried to kill you."
The wind picked up, cold and sharp. In the distance, sirens wailed closer, echoing off the hills. I followed him into the darkness, my mind spinning with questions, fear, and something else I didn't want to name yet.
As we
disappeared into the trees, one thought kept hammering inside my head:
Whoever wanted me dead… knew exactly where I'd be tonight.
And if Cole hadn't shown up when he did, I'd already be at the bottom of that cliff.