Page 74 of Knox Unleashed
The window is ahead of me, and I’m clambering on the seat of the toilet as one of the men throws himself at the door.
“Get the fuck out here,” one of the men shouts.
My palms sweat as I turn the small metal key I leave in the lock and open the window.
Humid night air rushes inside, thick with the smell of salt water and damp wood.
The drop looks a little farther than I’m comfortable with, but I have no other option. I swing one leg over the sill, the wooden frame catching the skin of my thigh. A splinter drives into my palm as I grab the edge to steady myself.
Then, for a terrifying moment, my weight shifts and I’m dangling halfway out of the window with nothing but air beneath my feet.
“Shit—” I cry.
But the men are yelling at each other, slamming into the door so hard, the frame shakes.
When I let go, the half second it takes to hit the ground feels like a minute. The ground jars my bones as I land, yet I manage to catch myself before I face-plant into the dirt. The pain of gravel beneath my feet is enough to remind me I’m barefoot. I’d kicked my sandals off beneath the desk.
But I can’t stop moving. I have to run around the outside of the building to my truck, and they can cut straight through the building to beat me to it.
I suck in a sob as I run, praying that I’m truly smarter than they are.
My truck is parked in my usual spot, farthest away from the store entrance, but I’m closer to it, given my unorthodox exit from the bathroom.
My fingers fumble, finding the fob so I can unlock the doors. When I finally press it, I yank the door open and throw myself into the driver’s seat. The engine turns over on the second try, just as the door to the store bursts open.
The first gunshot shatters my window.
The second hits my door.
I scream but throw the truck into gear.
In my rearview mirror, I see them hurry to their truck to chase me as I spin out of the lot. My cellphone slides across the passenger seat and onto the floor.
Their truck is faster and more powerful than mine, but I have an advantage they don’t: I know these roads like the back of my hand.
My stomach tightens as the truck closes the distance, the beam of light flooding through my back window.
I drive towards town, headed straight for my father’s office, until another thought occurs to me.
There is only one place I can go where they will shoot first and ask questions later. And maybe Knox won’t be happy to see me, but I can play it off that I’m bringing the men he’s seeking to him.
The first nudge of the truck’s bumper against mine causes the back of my vehicle to fishtail.
But sure enough, the Iron Outlaws compound appears through the trees like something out of another world. It might be midnight, but they have floodlights blazing against the dark.
I don’t slow down.
I fly into the lot, bursting straight through their security gate, my truck skidding sideways across the gravel before jerking to a stop near the entrance.
There are bikers outside, looking at their bikes, having a smoke.
But weapons are drawn quickly, and the door to the clubhouse opens and more bikers flood out.
Ridge. Then, Vandal.
Sunny is the first to shout, “It’s Maren Caldwell. Hold your fire.”
I grab for my phone, climb out of the car, and look behind me as the truck rides by. “It’s them,” I cry. “The men you’re looking for.”
