Page 7 of Kane's Kingdom

The window gets boarded. Franklin still won't answer, so I drive two towns over for produce while Marisol calls mestubborn and tells me that I look at Kane like my mouth's watering.

By three-thirty, the cafe is clean, stocked and locked. By four, I'm on River Road with the windows down because my air-conditioning died last summer and pride is apparently more affordable than repairs.

The road runs beside the water for six miles before it bends inland toward my house. Trees press close on one side. The river flashes brown-green through the other.

I see a black truck with no front plate in my mirror near the old quarry turnoff. It rides my bumper for half a mile, slowing when I slow and speeding up when I do.

My pulse hammers. "Come on," I mutter. "Pass me."

The truck swings out. For one relieved second, I think it will. Then it comes alongside and moves right.

Metal screams as its fender clips mine. My car jerks toward the river.

I wrench the wheel left. Tires spit gravel. The back end fishtails, catches, swings again.

The truck hits me a second time, not hard enough to roll me but hard enough to make the point.

I slam the brakes. The truck surges ahead, cuts across my lane, then disappears around the bend. My car stops crooked on the shoulder.

I grip the steering wheel until my fingers ache. My breath comes too fast. The river slides past ten feet away, indifferent and deep.

I sit there until the shaking stops. Then I drive home.

I lock the door, check it twice, and stand in my kitchen with both hands braced against the counter. The house is silent. My father's old shop rag hangs from the register key I brought home by mistake, red cloth dark with years of grease that'll never wash out. I stare at it.

"I can't handle this by myself," I mutter.

The words sound like defeat, and maybe they are. I pick up my phone.

There are three numbers I could call. Sam, who'll write another report. Marisol, who'll come over with a skillet as a weapon. And Kane.

It's the only door in Ransom I swore I'd never walk through. I hate needing it, hate that it's his, and hate the flare of heat beneath the fear when I press his name. He answers on the first ring.

"Bella."

I close my eyes. "I need help."

TWO

KANE

Bella comes through the compound gates just after midnight with fury in every step. I sent Judge, my VP, to her house to make sure she got here safely.

He rides behind her car and waits until the gates close before killing his engine. Two brothers stand near the clubhouse doors, cuts on and hands loose at their sides, while more shapes move beyond the windows. Every man in there is pretending he hasn't come out to see whether Red Rourke's daughter really called the club for help.

She did, and she hates that she did. I see it in the way she climbs out and slams the door hard enough to rattle the glass.

My eyes go straight to the dent along the passenger side, then back to her. "You hurt?"

"I'm fine. The truck clipped me. I stayed on the road."

Barely, judging by the mud sprayed across the tires and the scrape running from the rear door to the front fender. Rage moves through me.

"Did you see who was driving?"

"No."

"The truck? What did it look like?"