Fury of Desire (20 page)

“Fuck.”

The growl swirled in the cab a second before his hand left the steering wheel. He held it aloft a moment, poised in midair, then laid his forearm across the SUV’s center console. J. J. didn’t hesitate. She reached out and, with a whispered “thank you,” slid her hand into his much larger one. Skin on skin, his unbelievable heat spread. Warm prickles ghosted up her arm, chasing her chills away. She sighed in relief. Wick flinched and, white-knuckling the wheel, cursed again.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

She didn’t pull it off. Lying wasn’t her forte. Neither was faking it and—

A warm curl of sensation swirled through her. Something clicked, opening a channel deep inside her. Relief rolled in, breaking like a wave against a beachhead at high tide. The siphoning rush picked her up, blissed her out, relaxing her
completely, and… oh wow. Thank you, God.
That
was unbelievable. An instant reprieve from the pain.

Her eyes grew heavy-lidded. His fingers twitched against hers. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

True. Then again, he didn’t say much of anything. He liked short answers, one to three words at a time. Not a problem for her. Quiet by nature, she appreciated silence—along with concise answers—more than most people. She’d learned that skill in prison. The more silent she became, the less others noticed her. An excellent skill to embrace when surrounded by violent offenders with impulse-control issues. Dum-Dum Daisy was proof enough of that.

And speaking of which? The whole jailbreak thing wasn’t a great idea.

“You should take me back, you know,” she said, her mind working better as the pain subsided. Which meant… no more room for denial. The dash and dodge through the forest told her all she needed to know. They were on the run. No doubt from cruisers with SPD’s logo plastered along the side. And once the cops caught up with them? Forget about parole. It would be bye-bye freedom, hello extended sentence. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m up for parole in a month and—”

“Forget it, Jamison.” His grip tightened as he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze narrowed on the back window. “I’m not taking you back to that shithole.”

Well, would you look at that? More than three words in a row. They were making progress. “But if the police catch us—”

“Fuck the cops.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

He huffed, the sound half-snort, half-laugh.

And she knew what he meant. Her reaction was ridiculous. She was accustomed to prison life, for goodness sake—the land where harsh language abounded. Still, his attitude annoyed her. He’d given her the brush-off, dismissing her problems, asserting his control, making her feel… well… helpless, for lack of a better word. Yes, he controlled the play, no question. Was behind the wheel, calling the shots, roaring down some stupid dirt road in the middle of nowhere, but this was her life.
Hers.
Her future on the line. Her freedom hung out to dry. Her ass in the sling. So for him to pooh-pooh her concern, flush all she’d worked so hard to achieve down the toilet? Well…

The dismissal pissed her off. Pushed all the wrong buttons. Now all she wanted to do was wind up, let loose, and knock some sense into him. Too bad that time had come and gone. With the jailbreak in full swing, she was pretty much screwed. The cops wouldn’t understand or believe the escape hadn’t been her idea. So instead of the scathing comeback he deserved, she said, “I’m serious.”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “I can see that.”

“You know what I said about you being nice before?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it back.”

“I’m relieved. About time you pulled your head out of your…” Dark brows furrowed, Wick trailed off. He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening to something, and J. J. got a bad,
bad
feeling. “Shit.”

Bingo. Score one for women’s intuition. The intensity of his tone said it all. Trouble. A lot of it headed their way. “What is it?”

“Company.” A muscle twitched along his jaw. He tugged his hand away from hers. Each breath sawing in her throat, J. J. clung a moment, then let go. As a whisper of pain returned, he met her gaze. “Whatever happens,
vanzäla,
keep your head down. Don’t make a sound. It’s about to get rough.”

“Oh my God.”

The police.

Her heart beating an erratic pace, J. J. glanced out the rear window. Nothing yet. No wail of sirens or revolving splashes of flashing lights, but she knew they were coming. It was only a matter of time before the SPD closed in and…

She curled her arms against her chest. God. She was so screwed. About to be caught, cuffed, and sent back to prison. For a very long time.

Dread spiraled deep, causing a nasty chain reaction. One that tightened her throat and made panic rise. Tears surfaced in an irrepressible wave. And as moisture pricked the corners of her eyes, J. J. shook her head. This wasn’t happening. It
couldn’t
be happening. Less than a day ago, she’d held all the hope in the world. A chance at freedom and a second start in life. And now? All her hard work lay in ruins. Wrecked by a man she didn’t know, but who clearly had an agenda of his own.

Shock absorbers working overtime, the SUV sped over another rough patch on the deserted dirt road. Tree trunks and skeletal branches flashed in Wick’s periphery, casting shadows over the forest floor. Headlights turned off, his night vision pinpoint sharp, he scanned the narrow lane ahead, looking for the next turn, and almost snorted.

Lane.
Right. A total exaggeration. God-awful trail was a better description.

Cursing under his breath, Wick slowed down to wheel around a rocky outcropping. Pine needles played on the windshield, jumping against glass as the front tires dipped and…

Bam!

Shit. Another pothole, one of many and—

A gasp sounded to his right.

A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. Jamison was in pain, tears welling in her eyes even as she tried to be brave. To ride it out without complaining or distracting him. Wick clenched his teeth, debating. What should he do… reach over? Take her hand again? Or say the hell with it? She was
a grown female, for fuck’s sake. Well past the point of babying. More than able to care for herself.

Great argument. One that absolutely worked for him.

Too bad his dragon half didn’t agree. The bastard kept poking him—with a barbed stick—urging him to do something stupid. Like what? Murmur her name. Bridge the distance over the center console to touch her. Soothe her until she believed he wasn’t the enemy, but her only way out.

Totally screwed up reaction? No doubt. He wasn’t anyone’s knight in shining armor.

He was the other guy. The asshole in black. The one who brought death and destruction everywhere he went. The male no female wanted to be near. So the compulsion to reassure her surpassed idiotic to land in laughable. Yet, he couldn’t suppress the urge. And as the beast inside him rose, he did the unthinkable. He reached out and cupped her cheek. Sky-blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, she turned her face into his touch. Her bottom lip quivered, and his heart went tight, balling up inside his chest.

Shit on a stick. He disliked her distress. Hated her fear almost as much as what he was about to do. And what did that entail? Frightening her again by showing her all his cards.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice less than a whisper. “We’re going to get caught.”

“No, baby.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

Brushing his thumb over her cheek, Wick shook his head. He should’ve guessed she was astute. Any other time he would’ve admired her for it. He appreciated smart—straightforward too—but not tonight. He preferred she stay oblivious. Or better yet, went back to sleep before she got a
look at what hunted them. But inevitable was just that…
inevitable.
Meant to be, so to speak, so he’d just have to go with it. Make the best of a bad situation while he hoped she didn’t freak out and have a heart attack or something.

Static buzzed between his temples. One eye on the sky through the towering pines, Wick fired up mind-speak.
“Venom.”

“What?”

“You busy?”

“Just a tad.”
The shriek of claws against scales sounded. A male screamed. Venom grunted and…
crack!
The snap of bone echoed inside Wick’s head.
“One down… two to go. Whatcha need?”

“Backup.
” Wick cringed as the word left his mouth. He never asked for help in a firefight. He never needed any. Tonight, though, bypassed normal, heading straight into clusterfuck country. So to hell with his pride. With Jamison curled up beside him in the passenger seat, all bets were off. The more warriors to watch his six so he could protect her, the better.
“I got a trio of rogues on my ass.”

“Shite.”
Forge snarled and metal rattled, joining a symphony of breaking glass. A wet gurgle sounded as a male choked on his own blood. Wick’s mouth curved. Dollars to donuts, the Scot had just used the sharp side of a building to gut a Razorback.
“How much time we got tae get there?”

Hard to tell. With the forest providing cover, it might take a while for the rogues to find the opening they needed to attack.
“A couple of minutes… three tops.”

“J. J.?”
Mac asked.

Wick drew a gentle circle on her temple.
“Scared but alive.”

“Keep her that way.”
Venom growled. Another rogue screamed.
“Stall, Wick. Give me a minute to break free. I’ll come after you.”

Stellar plan. Except for one thing.

The forest was thinning, trees becoming scarcer by the moment. The road dipped, veering into a sloping turn and… fuck him. A clearing. Dead ahead.

Biting down on a curse, his gaze swept the terrain. Nowhere to go. Which meant he was headed into open space, one the rogues would use to their advantage… if he didn’t do something. Right now.

“Jamison.” He glanced out the window, gauging the distance. Shit. Three winged shadows off the driver’s side. Thirty seconds out and closing fast. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue.” His grip on her chin firmed. “Do it.”

Nylon hissed as she pulled on the strap. The buckle clicked home with a snick. Wick nodded and withdrew, letting go of her to put both hands on the wheel. Moonlight shone through a break in the trees, illuminating the trail and—

Jackpot. A small alcove between a boulder and two huge redwoods. The perfect spot to shield Jamison—and hide the SUV—while he went after the assholes chasing him.

Ancient trees on either side of the road tunneled, branches curving overhead. Wick stamped on the gas pedal. The Suburban responded, rocketing toward the lip of the clearing. Small shrubs pressed in, scraping along the running boards. Jamison flinched. Wick murmured, hoping the sound of his voice would calm her. It didn’t work. He smelled her fear. Felt each frantic beat of her heart. Heard each breath she took, the rasp and draw, the hitch in the
back of her throat, and watched her curl into a ball in the passenger seat.

Fucking hell. The Razorbacks would pay for that. For scaring her. For causing her more pain. For the folly of hunting him while he protected a female.

A snarl locked in his throat, Wick rechecked his sightline. So far, so good. If he timed it just right, the rogues wouldn’t know what hit them.

The trailhead widened into a V, opening into a field. Long grass undulated, moving with the wind.

The lead rogue wheeled overhead.

Wick bared his teeth, half smile, half snarl. Come on. Come on. Almost there. Another few seconds, and he’d have the male right where he wanted him… in prime strike position and at the end of his talons.

Bright scales flashed at the end of the roadway. Eyes aglow, the enemy dragon spread his wings, stopping his flight to hang in midair, obliterating the view of the field beyond. Black horns curled over his ears, the rogue snarled. Wick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and counted off the seconds. Three. Two—

“Oh shit!” Jamison’s startled cry echoed inside the truck. Her eyes went wide. Panic struck, making her scramble on the seat as she stared at the Razorback through the windshield. “Oh… my… God… Wick!”

The rogue inhaled past razor-sharp fangs.

One!

He hit the brakes and cranked the wheel. All-terrain tires bit, swinging the rear of the truck around. The vehicle rocked side to side. Dirt flew, arching in a circle, loam and pine needles raining against the SUV’s rooftop. He heard Jamison gasp in alarm. Ignoring her, he slammed the truck
in reverse and gunned the engine. Steel shrieked against stone as he sandwiched the vehicle between the boulder and the redwoods. A stream of acid flew through the air. The dragon’s toxic exhale splattered the ground, then splashed over the front bumper. Bark crackled and sizzled, smoldering into smoke. Noxious fumes puffed against the SUV’s grille, then rolled toward the windshield.

A millisecond—that’s all it took—and Wick exited the truck.