The Walls Of Troy Part 31

"Are you serious?" He started to crane his neck.

"Don't look."

He pressed back against the seat. "What the f.u.c.k do we do now?"

"Call the cops." I glanced in the mirror again. "Tell them we're being pursued, and we need a.s.sistance."

"What?"

"Just do it."

"Doing it." Troy pulled out his phone. He put it up to his ear, and I focused on staying between the lines and ahead of the douche bag behind us.

"We need the police out by Naval Station Oceana." Troy's voice shook a little, but he kept it together. "This guy is following us. No, I'm absolutely certain he is. Yes, ma'am, I know who the driver-"

The engine behind us roared.

I had time to say "s.h.i.+t!" before my jar jolted forward. Hard. My head smacked the headrest. The impact reverberated through me, especially in my hands and wrists as I gripped the wheel tighter.

"Oh G.o.d," Troy breathed. He flew forward again.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just picking up-" He sat up, phone in hand. "h.e.l.lo? He just rammed us."

The engine roared again, and the car moved into my blind spot. I braked hard but didn't do it fast enough, and the road was too narrow to avoid him without putting us into the ditch.

He rammed us again, this time from the side. The world spun. Tires screamed on the pavement. Before I could recover, he did it again, and this time, we both lost control.

My car went into the ditch. We hit hard, both grunting as the seat belts caught us. Fortunately, the airbags didn't go off.

I looked around. Ben's car was on the other side of the road, facing the wrong direction.

I turned off the ignition but left the keys. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Troy s.h.i.+fted gingerly. "You?"

"I'm fine." I withdrew the pistol from my shoulder holster. "Stay here, stay on the line with the dispatcher, and keep your head down."

He didn't argue and instead reached down to pick up his phone off the floorboards again.

I grabbed my cuffs, stepped out and immediately trained the pistol on the other car. Approaching slowly, I said, "Ben, both hands on the dashboard where I can see them."

He leaned over the wheel and put his hands on the dash, fingers splayed out.

"Step out of the vehicle, Ben," I ordered. "Slowly and with your hands where I can see them. Now."

He turned his head, dark eyes menacingly narrow. "f.u.c.k you," he snarled.

"Get out of the car." I aimed my pistol in through the busted window. "Now."

"a.s.shole." He made a slow but deliberate gesture of wiping blood from his cheek, succeeding only in smearing it rather than actually clearing it way. "You don't want me getting out."

"I didn't want to put my car in the ditch either, but you didn't give me a h.e.l.l of a lot of choice." I kept the weapon trained on him and opened his door with the other. "Out."

He stepped out, hands in the air, and over my pistol's iron sights, I was face-to-face with the man who'd abused and traumatized and stalked Troy. My finger twitched on the trigger.

He was a little bigger than Troy-taller and also wider in the shoulders-but I still had a few inches on him. Not enough to take any chances, though.

"Put your hands behind your head," I ordered. "And turn around slowly."

Rolling his eyes, he did as he was told.

I shoved him up against the car with my knee, grabbed his wrist, and yanked it down behind the small of his back. I snapped one cuff around it, then reached for his other arm and- He launched himself back against me, and thanks to the uneven ground, I lost my balance. I caught myself, but not fast enough, and he shoved back again, this time sending us both toppling onto the pavement.

"Iskander!"

"Stay in the car!" I shouted and threw a fist into Ben's gut. He grunted and recoiled, but then lunged at me. I twisted to the side, and only his arm caught me instead of his shoulder.

We grappled on the ground. I pistol-whipped him, stunning him for a second, and grabbed his arm, but he used the uneven ground at the edge of the pavement to his advantage and rolled to one side, knocking me off balance. His elbow connected with my temple, turning the world white for a split second. Before I could recover enough to deflect the next blow, he landed a brutal blow to my left side. Something crunched. Pain. Oh, f.u.c.king sweet Jesus, pain.

I managed to focus enough to lunge for my gun and got my fingers around it in spite of the movement setting the side of my chest on fire.

Then something clicked. Two points of red-hot pain came to life.

Oh s.h.i.+t. Oh s.h.i.+t!

I heard the crackle a heartbeat too late. Invisible fists pummeled my battered torso, dropping me onto the pavement.

The Taser stopped. I pulled in a breath, but then he slammed his foot into my ribs again. Another crunch. More pain. f.u.c.k! Through the blinding pain, I heard him snarl, "Should've stayed away from him, motherf.u.c.ker," and then he zapped me again. More pain. More phantom fists.

When the shock stopped, my muscles went slack.

Including my hand.

He stepped on my wrist, grinding it into the pavement, and panic shot through me again as he picked up my gun.

Another zap. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k!

My ribs were on fire. My head spun, and the edges of my vision sparkled.

As the shock ceased and my vision cleared, I realized he was gone.

I heard a car door open.

No, Troy. No. Stay in the- Bang!

Chapter Twenty.

Troy!

Someone hit the ground. Someone groaned.

Oh G.o.d, no...

"Troy?" I pushed myself up on shaking arms, wincing at the white-hot pain in my side. "Troy, answer me."

Please, please answer me...

It wasn't the effects of the Taser keeping me from getting up. The pain was excruciating. Nauseating. Blinding. My vision doubled. Tripled. I tried to get up anyway, and the ground listed. When I caught myself on my arm, the pain drove me all the way down.

Somehow, I found enough air to grind out, "Troy?"

No answer.

But not silence, either-sirens had never sounded so f.u.c.king good. In seconds, I was surrounded by roaring engines and flas.h.i.+ng lights.

"Troy?" I called out. Speaking at all hurt like a motherf.u.c.ker. Shouting? Agony. But not knowing if Troy was okay was going to kill me. "Troy? Talk to me."

Cops, medics, and firefighters descended on me.

"Sir, I need you to lie still."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Don't move, sir. I need you to-"

"Troy?" Pain surged through me. Just breathing hurt. The edges of my vision were getting darker. Or maybe I just noticed it more with all the bright lights around me now. And even though it hurt like h.e.l.l, and my voice sounded millions of miles away, I called out again, "Troy?"

There were voices everywhere. Footsteps. Shouts. Diesel engines.

But no sign of Troy.

Distantly, I heard someone say, "Put some pressure on that wound and get him some O2."

"I don't have a pulse."

"Starting chest compressions!"

Oh G.o.d...

Someone touched my shoulder, and even that gentle contact sent a white-hot jolt through me. Hands tried to hold me down, and I struggled, and the pain was blinding. My head was spinning. My vision kept trying to cloud, but I forced myself to focus. Every time I moved-h.e.l.l, every time I breathed-the pain was unbearable. Dizzying. Sickening. Unconsciousness was tempting. Almost unavoidable. But...

"Troy? Where's Troy?"

"Sir, I just need you to lie still."

Another silhouette came closer.

Knelt above me.

Flas.h.i.+ng lights flickered across piercings.

Someone took my hand. "Iskander?"

"Troy." I squeezed his hand.

He squeezed it back.

And everything went dark.

Dreams and reality blurred together, and time lost any semblance of relevance. When I finally found myself staring up at a fluorescent light and a bland pastel ceiling, it could have been weeks since the last time I'd been lucid.

The side of my chest hurt like h.e.l.l. My head pounded, and I was pretty sure it wasn't just from being out of it-the throbbing at my temple was a little too concentrated for that.

The f.u.c.k happened, anyway?

I rewound the blurry darkness as far as I could, searching for the last point I could be absolutely certain was real.

"Iskander?"

"Troy."

And that was all she wrote.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, but stopped that s.h.i.+t when it sent fresh pain coursing across my rib cage. Busted ribs. Awesome.

I couldn't quite piece together what had happened, why I was here, but I remembered the sheer terror of a gunshot ringing in my ears and not knowing where the h.e.l.l Troy was. If he was alive. If he was wounded.

"Iskander?"

"Troy."

I could still feel the relief that had rushed over me just before I'd pa.s.sed out.

I opened my eyes.

What if I'd dreamed that part? G.o.d knew I'd imagined plenty of things between hitting the pavement and waking up here. What if...

I tensed and regretted it. How many ribs I'd broken, I had no idea, but some of them definitely were. I distantly remembered the f.u.c.ker kicking me when I'd tried to get up. Again when I'd reached for my gun. The splintering sensation-and sound-were vividly imprinted in my mind, but then I'd hit the pavement, and nothing was clear after that. Nothing was certain.