Red Zone (Red Zone 1)

The snake peeked out at her from behind her captor’s feet, and she could have sworn it grinned. She shook her head at it, in what she hoped was a subtle, but clear, message that he was to lay low and do nothing. She blinked in shock when it narrowed its eyes in reply. Just like its human half, the snake would do exactly what it wanted to do.

Its thin, forked tongue snuck out, tasting the air, scenting its prey. It was clear what it planned. But there were so many ways it could go badly wrong. If the snake bit the man with the gun, he wouldn’t die straight away. He’d have enough time to shoot her or the snake. And even if the snake did manage to take one man out, there were still two more to contend with. There was no way the diamondback could deal with all three of them before they struck back. Not unless the first man he bit stayed silent. An impossibility when diamondback venom caused agony.

The snake opened its mouth, and those long fangs of his slipped down, ready to bite. Its eyes focused on her captor’s ankle.

“Don’t,” she said, risking being drugged to warn the rattler.

“Don’t what?” the guy in front of her asked.

“I told you about talking,” the scarred man said. “This is your last warning.”

She clenched her fists tight, helpless to stop the snake from striking without putting herself and the rattler in even more danger. The diamondback reared its head back. There w

as no stopping it now. She saw the split second it’d made its decision, and fast as lightning, it shot forward to strike at its target. She threw herself to the floor. The gunman screamed. The gun went off. The car’s tires screeched as it veered off the road.

“Snake! It bit me!”

“What the fuck? You shot our driver!”

The car careened through the grassy wasteland beyond the road. Each bump tossing Friday around, banging her against the hard surfaces around her. She grasped for something, anything, to hold on to as the scarred man fought for control of the car. The driver slumped forward over the wheel, blood pouring from the back of his head. They bounced up in the air and came back down with a crash.

The gunman screamed. The gun in his hand waved wildly. He pulled the trigger. A bullet hit the floor beside her head. Another gunshot. Two. He didn’t know he was firing and didn’t care who he hit. Friday tried to wedge her body under the seat to get out of the line of fire, but the car was moving around too much. The gunman’s screams reverberated around the tiny interior. The horror of his agony happening right in front of her—she felt like he would never stop screaming. And then, suddenly, there was silence. He slumped to the side, his gun falling to his feet.

The car flew up in the air again. She grabbed hold of the seat beside her as the snake headed straight toward the last of her captors. It didn’t hesitate, striking over and over, hitting the scarred man’s neck with icy precision. The screams were chilling and endless, until they stopped, and all she could hear was the car’s engine and the banging of bushes and rocks hitting the undercarriage as it sped across the rough terrain.

She felt the snake curl around her. Protecting her the best it could. The car hit something hard, jerked to the side, and rolled. Friday flew up to the roof and fell back down again with a thud that knocked the air out of her lungs. The world was tumbling, taking her along with it. She was thrown toward the narrow gap under the back seat. Desperately, she grasped for purchase, angling her body under the seat. Squeezing herself into that gap. Hoping she made it. There was an almighty crash. Followed by scraping. Bodies thudded around inside the car like rag dolls tossed about by a child. She made one last push toward that tiny space under the seat. Toward safety. Her head hit something hard. The pain was dizzying. She caught one last glimpse of the snake looking up at her. And then, she felt nothing at all.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“There!” Striker pointed at the smoke rising from the middle of a field beside the highway. He could just make out the wheels of a car pointing up to the sky.

They’d rolled.

“We can’t drive out to them. Not in this,” Mace said.

Striker pulled the van over onto the hard shoulder and was out the door and running before the engine fully stopped.

“Are they alive?” Mace shouted, bringing up the rear. “What’s your snake saying?”

“Nothing. It’s saying nothing.” He jumped over a bush and sprang over some rocks, racing to get to them. To get to Friday.

“No flames.” His partner had his gun ready in case they ran into trouble.

No flames was good. It meant an explosion wasn’t likely. It meant anyone trapped in the vehicle had a chance of surviving.

“If that damn snake is alive, I’m gonna kill it.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but he’d spent the better part of his time since Friday had been snatched arguing with the reptile telling it not to bite anyone and being ignored. Yeah, they were gonna have a long talk about who was in charge of their weird little duo. Right after he turned the reptile into a pair of boots.

They slowed as they approached the crash site, aiming their guns, senses tuned to the environment, ready in case of attack. The body of a man was sprawled halfway out of the shattered window on the driver’s side of the car. Striker toed him with his boot. Dead. A gunshot to the back of the head. Carefully, he rounded the car. There was no movement. No sign of life.

You there, you rat-eating bastard? he called to his other half. No answer.

“Got one over here,” Mace said from the other side of the car. “Dead. Looks like a collision between the windscreen and his head took him out, but there are bite marks on his neck.”

Striker cursed a streak in English and French. He was seriously going to kill that rattler. He bent to look through the back window. It was tinted. He could make out shapes, nothing else. “You see anything in back?”

“No. Don’t hear anything, either.”

“Cover me, I’m gonna pop the door.”