He glanced around the woods, his headlights hitting on something on the side of the road.
Probably garbage.
With white-blonde hair? And had it moved?
As soon as his head caught up with what his eyes had spotted, he pulled over. Some of the bikes shot past, those at the back stopping with him as he jumped out and ran back to where he’d spotted what he was now certain was a person lying on the side of the road.
His heart stopped as he saw her. Lying there. Arm outstretched towards the road as though reaching for it.
Betsy!
He ignored the others around him, racing towards her and falling onto his knees. He grabbed her, turning her over.
Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive.
Her moan was the most delicious sound he’d heard in his life.
“Betsy! Betsy!”
“Betsy don’t wanna get up. Sleep.”
Shit. He gathered her up into his arms, ignoring her protests.
She was alive. Maybe hurt. He wasn’t certain. But alive.
“Ink, we need to go, man.”
Razor’s voice penetrated and he looked up at the older, dark-skinned man standing over them.
“I need to check her over.”
“No fucking time, man. She’s being hunted.”
The words sent a chill down his spine. But he quickly whisked her up into his arms and ran towards the truck. Forrest and his men weren’t getting their hands on her.
Never. Again.
17
When she woke up, she was so warm and comfy, she just wanted to go back to sleep again.
“Betsy?” A hand brushed over her head.
“No.”
The hand stilled. “No?”
“Betsy isn’t in today. Betsy is on vacation. Call again later.”
There was a surprised bark of laughter.
“Is that so?” a dark voice drawled.
“Uh-huh, it is so. Betsy only wakes up for chocolate and donuts.”
“Chocolate and donuts could be arranged. If Betsy wakes up and has some proper breakfast first.”
“Chocolate and donuts could be breakfast.”