Inked Babies (Inked Brotherhood 6)

“But he is a psycho,” I remind him. I have a feeling in my gut about this. “He’s not stupid, but his brain isn’t normal. A guy who lurks around houses, grabbing random kids from empty lots and backyards… that’s who he is.”

“The thrill of the hunt, huh?” Rafe frowns. “Fine. Look, we’re not far. Let’s swing by the therapist’s street and see if he’s there.”

Like a stroll in the park.

I release the parking brake and head back into traffic.

***

The familiar street is quiet and lined with trees. I cruise slowly, ignoring the booming of my heart, the sweat slicking my palms. There is a number of cars parked on either side.

Not sure what I think will happen.

Rafe lowers the volume and the music drops to a whisper of a beat. His gaze is focused on the street ahead. Thank fuck he’s not making fun of me over this, though I bet the fucker is just biding his time and thinking how to tell the story to make me look like more of an idiot.

“You can stop,” I tell him.

“What?”

“You can stop thinking up jokes about today already,” I clarify, scowling at the parked cars. “So I was wrong and—”

“A car is following us.”

My pulse spikes, blood rushing in my ears. “Are you sure?” I check the rearview mirror and

find a dusty black Ford Raptor. It’s a massive truck, bigger than mine, and it’s accelerating.

Shit. I step on the gas a moment too late. The truck rear-ends us, and we lurch forward.

“What the fuck?” Rafe is yelling, and I’m struggling to control the steering wheel while speeding up. “I’m calling the police before—”

The truck slams into us again. The impact loosens the wheel from my hands, the belt cuts into my airways, and I lose the ability to breathe.

Or control the pick-up.

A car is coming toward us, on the opposite lane. I see it, time slowing down, as the pick-up starts to slide.

I yank the wheel the other way in a desperate attempt to avoid the head-on collision.

We crash into something else. A tree, I think, then my head slams on the wheel, and I see black.

***

Someone is rattling my door.

I’m pretty fucking sure about it, ’cuz it’s vibrating against my cheek and it hurts my brain. I also know I’m in my pick-up.

Meanwhile, feeling is returning to my body, and with it, pain.

Fucking ow.

I groan pitifully as I lift my head and blink blood-soaked lashes. Blood is covering one side of my face, dripping from my chin.

God, awesome.

“Z-man?” Rafe’s voice is a croak, and I wipe the blood from my eye to find him slumped back in the passenger seat, an arm wrapped around his middle. “Call the police.”

I open my mouth to ask him why he’s not doing it, then my door rattles again and turning, I see the face outside the window.