Brave thoughts for a girl about to be caught.

The ground beneath my feet developed an icy film, and I began to slip and slide, throwing wild glances behind me. Rome, too, was precarious on the ice, yet he appeared to be closer every time I looked. I blamed my uncontrollable coughing, which slowed me down considerably. What was wrong with me? I’d never reacted this way to car fumes before.

Get yourself under control. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Not knowing what else to do as he barreled at me full speed, I stepped into the street. I got my heart rate under control just as a car honked and swerved into the center lane of traffic. Another car, a bright red Viper, screeched to a halt right in front of me.

“Don’t do it,” Rome shouted.

I raced to the passenger side of the vehicle. Thankfully, it didn’t freeze. My emotions were leveling out. Music blared from the speakers, but the driver turned it off when I ripped open the door. He wore an expression of utter surprise and white-hot anger. Uncaring, I bent to throw myself inside. In the next flash, a small dart flew past me and embedded itself in the car. Shocked, puzzled, I whipped my head to the side. A man-none other than the very beautiful man who’d questioned me at the café-stood several feet away, holding a gun. And that gun was aimed directly at me.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. I dived the rest of the way inside the car, then quickly shut and locked the door. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Several more darts hit the window, cracking the glass. I nearly jumped out of my skin. At least my coughing stopped.

The car’s driver shouted several curses and placed the vehicle in Park. I think he meant to physically kick me out. He was a young man (probably a teenager), with blue hair and an eyebrow full of rings.

“Gas it!” I commanded shakily.

He snarled over at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get the fuck out of my car.” Another dart hit the window, cracking the glass a little more. “And who the hell is shooting at my window?”

“Drive. Please drive.”

“Get. The fuck. Out! You’re covered in ashes and it’s ruining my leather. I’m calling the cops.” He grabbed a cell phone from the dashboard. “My window looks like a goddamn spiderweb.”

I dared a peek out of said window and could see (from multiple reflections) that Pretty Boy-Vincent, I recalled-was almost upon us. Rome, too, his expression dark with rage. Then Pretty Boy began shooting darts at Rome, but Rome easily ducked them. All the while, both continued toward me.

“She belongs to me,” I heard Pretty Boy say. “The formula inside her belongs to me.”

“Fuck you,” Rome snarled in response.

Pretty Boy laughed. “If you want me gone, you’ll have to give me the girl or kill me. But we both know you won’t do the latter. You can’t. Pussy. Or maybe you’d like to, at last, join me at OASS. Wouldn’t it be nice to finally be on the winning team?”

The driver had been nudging my arm during the entire conversation, trying to get me out of his car, but I maintained a death grip on his dash. All too soon, Pretty Boy tired of Rome and returned his focus to me. He raised his dart gun.

“Drive now,” I said to the Viper’s driver, more desperate than before, “and I’ll make sure you have sex tonight.”

The car jerked into gear and we peeled out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HERE’S HOW THE NEXT excruciating hour broke down:

After we’d driven a sufficient distance from Rome (leaving him scowling in the street) and Pretty Boy (leaving him to hopefully choke on his dart gun), I asked my punked-out driver to take me to a cheap motel-a suggestion he loved.

I mean, the kid was all smiles. And why wouldn’t he be? I’d offered to sex him up hard core. Someone should lock me up in a padded room and burn the key. But I had to go to a random location, as planned, or risk being found, and a cheap motel was the best my stressed-out brain could think up. How I would have loved to go to my dad’s, instead, to throw myself in his arms and let him sing me to sleep like he’d done for me as a child. But I didn’t want to involve him.

Sunlight poured through the car windows, but the air inside was ice-cold. Not my fault. The kid-what the hell was his name?-had the AC cranked up, blasting it from the vents. I couldn’t get warm. My nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

As the scenery whizzed past, I saw a few scattered flower patches and multiple gas stations before the entire landscape was consumed by pine trees. Constantly I cataloged the traffic around and behind us. No one careened toward us or followed-that I could see. To be honest, the only people who seemed to care about us were the angry drivers who didn’t appreciate our weaving in and out of lanes.

“Eyes straight ahead,” I said when I noticed the kid was staring at my chest.

His cheeks colored. “My little pony needs the road to open up so she can run.” He patted the dashboard.

Run. Yes. Forever? How long would I be hunted?

He glanced at me-at my face, this time. “Hey, you all right? You’re putting out some seriously funky vibes.”

“I’m great.” Considering I’m marked for death. “What’s your name?”

“Tanner, but my friends call me Crazy Bones.”

“Uh, that’s an… interesting nickname.”

“I know. I got it from the ladies.” His young chest puffed up. “It’s for all the wicked-mad bones I give the girls that make them crazy for more.”

I almost choked. “Bones… as in sex?”

“Fo sheezie.” He chuckled, a sound of pure adolescent glee. “No one’s ever jumped in front of my car like that.”

No more “get out, bitch” from this one.

Tanner-I refused to refer to him as Crazy Bones-was cute in a bad boy sort of way. Silver rings winked from his eyebrow, blue hair fell over his forehead and a colorful python tattoo wrapped around the base of his neck. He was a little thin, and his clothes were baggy and ripped. He looked anything but poor, however.

“My dad said the Viper would be a babe magnet, but fuck if I had any idea how much.”

“Your dad sounds great,” I said drily.

His lips dipped into a frown, and his hands clenched over the wheel. Had I said something wrong? Before I had a chance to ask, he changed the subject. “Who was shooting darts at you, and who was that man chasing you? You were, like, getting it from every angle.”

“The dart man is the devil.” And I didn’t know what Rome was to me. Potential savior? Potential downfall? Potential lover? A combination of all three? “I wish I knew about the one chasing me,” I finally answered, choosing honesty.

“He looked pi-issed. I’ve never seen a scowl that mean.”

“Unfortunately, that scowl is not false advertising.” Rome ’s face flashed before my mind. Oh, yes. He’d been pissed. His pupils had been dilated dramatically. His teeth had been bared in a sharp snarl, his nostrils flared. If he had been blessed/cursed with power over the four elements, there would have been a spontaneous Belle BBQ there in the street.

Before today, I never would have believed something like this was possible. Anyone who said superpowers truly existed would have been filed in the folders of my mind under “Freaking Insane.”

Tanner sneezed once, twice. He rubbed his nose and cut a narrowed glance in my direction. “Those ashes are potent.”

“Are they? I hadn’t noticed,” I said drily, turning toward him. For the first time, our gazes met. His eyes were completely black, as if his pupils had swallowed his irises and-I shook my head, certain my eyesight must be compromised. “Are those eight balls?”

“Hell, yeah.” He grinned, appearing younger and slightly wicked. “I could have gone for the tiger eye contacts, but this way the girls know right up front that I’ve got lucky balls.”

O-kay. Too much (creepy) information. I needed to find a happy place inside my mind and forget I’d ever heard that. Happy place. Happy place.