Car? Someone’s chasing us?
A distant spark of hope lit up in his chest. Was someone trying to rescue him?
Was it Roman?
Wyatt used all his core strength to wiggle his way up onto his knees, leaning against the car seat as they took another turn. A loud metallic clang rang through the car, and Wyatt watched as pieces of fence flew past the windows. The car gained some air, jumping over a speed bump and slamming back down on the other side, Wyatt bouncing like a rag doll.
He just had to keep calm. He could make it out of this, as bleak as it seemed. If it was really Roman that was chasing after them, then these kidnappers were in for a really rough time. When Roman wanted something, he turned into a saltwater crocodile clamping its jaws around his prey’s neck. Wyatt remembered liking that about him the most, how intensely passionate and driven he’d become when he wanted something. It turned into a double-edged sword that ended up stabbing Wyatt directly through the chest, but maybe this time, the sword would be aimed at the kidnappers instead.
“I’ve got a shot on the leader,” one of the men said, the one closest to Wyatt. He leaned against the back seat, one eye shut and the other open as he took aim.
It is Roman.
Wyatt could see his savior (second time today, what the hell were the odds of that) in the passenger seat of the car tailing them, picking up a burst of sudden speed.
“Take it!” the driver shouted, spotting Roman’s car gaining on them.
It would be a bullseye. Wyatt had no doubt about it. Roman was too close—even Wyatt could make that shot, his forehead forming a bright red bullseye. The man’s finger pressed on the trigger at the exact moment Wyatt’s teeth sunk into the back of his leg.
The man gave a screech and pulled the trigger, an ear-splitting bang filling the car as glass rained down on the white leather seats.
He had missed his shot and was turning that rage onto the reason: Wyatt.
“You fucking little bitch.” He grabbed Wyatt by the collar and threw him against the car door.
“Mauricio, focus! Take another shot.”
“Oh, I will.” Mauricio brought his gun and pressed it up against Wyatt’s throat. “I think you made me bleed, motherfucker.”
“Shoot, shoot!”
Wyatt shut his eyes, bracing for the end. Would it hurt? Would he feel anything at all, or would it all just switch to black? His cheeks were wet from tears he hadn’t realized were falling. His shoulders had stopped shaking, the fear becoming so strong, so potent, that it had a paralytic effect on him.
Another gunshot. More glass. More bangs. The car jerked to the left, and someone shouted, “He’s dead!” before one last blast of a gun. A warm spray of blood went across Wyatt’s neck. The car swerved, and he was thrown to the floor again, eyes still clamped shut. He said, “Please,” over and over again. There wasn’t any pain, but maybe that was the adrenaline hard at work.
The car bounced two more times before there was a loud crash, and the car came to a complete stop, Wyatt hitting his shoulder against the center console, a heavy body falling on top of him and pinning him down. He tried pushing him off but was lodged underneath the weight, and the smoke that began to fill the car’s interior only made this situation catastrophically worse.
The door opened, and the body on top of him was yanked off. Wyatt looked up and into Roman’s eyes, hand outstretched and reaching under Wyatt. “Come on, this thing’s about to blow.”
Wyatt didn’t need any more urging. He crawled out of the car and was helped onto his feet by Roman. They ran from the flames that started to rise from the front of the car, the hood resembling a metallic accordion pressed into a leaning palm tree. Seconds later, the flames reached the gas tank, the explosion consuming the entire car and nearly knocking Wyatt over, heat smacking against the back of his neck.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
Roman held on to Wyatt’s elbows, clear concern reflecting back at Wyatt. He shook his head. “I’m not hurt. I’m fine. I’m fine.” He took a deep breath, feeling very far from fine. His brain swam with questions, the shock making it hard to string together coherent sentences.
“Roman, we have to go.”
Wyatt looked to the curly-haired girl sitting behind the driver’s seat of a bright pink Audi. A couple of bullets had torn through the mirror, leaving behind some wires attached to a piece of glass. The other car was completely engulfed in flames now, none of the men who had abducted him making it out.
“I know I have a lot of explaining to do,” Roman said, hands still around Wyatt’s elbows. “But I need you to come with us.”