all but yelped, speculating on the best way to go. The Nissan swung sharply about. Alicia took out a rear tire and then suddenly the whole vehicle flipped, its occupants rattling crazily around the interior as the three-ton runaway killing machine bounced straight for them.
Alicia saw Whipper to her right unleash her whip expertly toward the arm of the driver who sought to shoot her. The hard twined rope slashed through the air at the speed of sound, lashing the gun from his hand and severing two fingers. The man ’s scream was lost as that car also turned sharply.
Now Alicia had two death traps tumbling toward her.
And no way to save herself. It was all in the hands of Lomas, a situation she rarely faced and absolutely detested. The biker leader laid it down, leaning the bike over hard and sliding, scraping the big machine along the ground. Sparks flew from the bike, the fairing, and from the metal heel-tips of his boots. The first Nissan slammed down with an almighty crash no more than six inches before them, then rose just enough for the Ducati to slide right under. The spinning car bonnet glanced off Lomas’s helmet, knocking his head back hard. Alicia saw the Nissan’s occupants with their faces pressed hard up against the windscreen and bodies hanging loosely. Already dead.
She fought to help Lomas, angling her weight so the bike ground its way beyond the path of the second Nissan, but their combined weight wasn’t quite enough. The blue car struck the ground hard just as the Ducati grated by, smashing down on its front wheel and flipping both Lomas and Alicia into the air.
Alicia flailed as she flew and landed heavily, tucking on impact. The air rushed from her lungs. The biker’s suit saved her flesh from being churned to Swiss cheese; the helmet protected her skull. She rolled with the momentum, decreasing the impact, and came up on one knee.
Both vehicles smashed into one another with a thump like a house falling down. Debris scattered across the carriageway. She spotted at least two unmoving bodies and several rifles. But that didn’t matter for now. Quickly, she turned to Lomas and shook his shoulder.
“That was close. C ’mon, this ain’t no time for a nap, dickhead.”
Lomas rolled over, but only through the momentum caused by Alicia’s shaking. His form lay inert, still. Alicia pulled his helmet off and stared at his face.
“No.”
She slapped his cheeks before thinking to check for a pulse. As her heart rose into her mouth, Alicia Myles did the one thing she had shunned since childhood.
She prayed for another person.
“Please, God. Please, God. Please . . .”
Lomas ’s eyes flickered open. The pulse beneath her finger was weak, but tangible. “Christ,” he muttered. “That hurt.”
Alicia scanned his body. There were no obvious injuries: no blood, no crooked joints. If Lomas was in pain, the damage was on the inside.
“Wait here. I ’ll get help.”
She took in the situation. The bad news was that many of the bikers were down, at least half of them clearly wounded or unmoving. The good news was that only one of the Nissans remained. She skimmed across the scene at both ends of the bridge, not liking what she saw. All four BMWs were still in place.
To her side , Lomas’s Ducati still rumbled. A germ of an idea entered her head.
“I think we—”
The hand that grabbed her wrist was desperate. Alicia started and flicked her gaze back to Lomas. What she saw turned her insides to ice. Bright -red blood bubbled up through his open mouth. The biker tried to talk, but the gush of blood made him cough and choke.
“Lomas.” Her voice was emotionless.
“If this . . . if this is the last . . . fight of the Slayers,” he managed. “Make sure . . . we win.”
Alicia held his hand and moved her head close until their noses were touching. She knew her lover was about to die and no one could save him. She took in the last moments of his life, his breath, and savored them. His
Alicia saw Whipper to her right unleash her whip expertly toward the arm of the driver who sought to shoot her. The hard twined rope slashed through the air at the speed of sound, lashing the gun from his hand and severing two fingers. The man ’s scream was lost as that car also turned sharply.
Now Alicia had two death traps tumbling toward her.
And no way to save herself. It was all in the hands of Lomas, a situation she rarely faced and absolutely detested. The biker leader laid it down, leaning the bike over hard and sliding, scraping the big machine along the ground. Sparks flew from the bike, the fairing, and from the metal heel-tips of his boots. The first Nissan slammed down with an almighty crash no more than six inches before them, then rose just enough for the Ducati to slide right under. The spinning car bonnet glanced off Lomas’s helmet, knocking his head back hard. Alicia saw the Nissan’s occupants with their faces pressed hard up against the windscreen and bodies hanging loosely. Already dead.
She fought to help Lomas, angling her weight so the bike ground its way beyond the path of the second Nissan, but their combined weight wasn’t quite enough. The blue car struck the ground hard just as the Ducati grated by, smashing down on its front wheel and flipping both Lomas and Alicia into the air.
Alicia flailed as she flew and landed heavily, tucking on impact. The air rushed from her lungs. The biker’s suit saved her flesh from being churned to Swiss cheese; the helmet protected her skull. She rolled with the momentum, decreasing the impact, and came up on one knee.
Both vehicles smashed into one another with a thump like a house falling down. Debris scattered across the carriageway. She spotted at least two unmoving bodies and several rifles. But that didn’t matter for now. Quickly, she turned to Lomas and shook his shoulder.
“That was close. C ’mon, this ain’t no time for a nap, dickhead.”
Lomas rolled over, but only through the momentum caused by Alicia’s shaking. His form lay inert, still. Alicia pulled his helmet off and stared at his face.
“No.”
She slapped his cheeks before thinking to check for a pulse. As her heart rose into her mouth, Alicia Myles did the one thing she had shunned since childhood.
She prayed for another person.
“Please, God. Please, God. Please . . .”
Lomas ’s eyes flickered open. The pulse beneath her finger was weak, but tangible. “Christ,” he muttered. “That hurt.”
Alicia scanned his body. There were no obvious injuries: no blood, no crooked joints. If Lomas was in pain, the damage was on the inside.
“Wait here. I ’ll get help.”
She took in the situation. The bad news was that many of the bikers were down, at least half of them clearly wounded or unmoving. The good news was that only one of the Nissans remained. She skimmed across the scene at both ends of the bridge, not liking what she saw. All four BMWs were still in place.
To her side , Lomas’s Ducati still rumbled. A germ of an idea entered her head.
“I think we—”
The hand that grabbed her wrist was desperate. Alicia started and flicked her gaze back to Lomas. What she saw turned her insides to ice. Bright -red blood bubbled up through his open mouth. The biker tried to talk, but the gush of blood made him cough and choke.
“Lomas.” Her voice was emotionless.
“If this . . . if this is the last . . . fight of the Slayers,” he managed. “Make sure . . . we win.”
Alicia held his hand and moved her head close until their noses were touching. She knew her lover was about to die and no one could save him. She took in the last moments of his life, his breath, and savored them. His
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