nor

ly banked into the switchbacks of Dead Man's Ridge. Below us, the shee

lso a member of the Iron Bastards escort, constantly braking and accelerating; I thought he didn't know how

st to vent my anger. Damaris called this behavior "road rage." She sai

romantic legend that every girl

lso gone over a cli

ight through the rusted guardrail. I could imagine that terrifying fall-as the cab crumpled, Jax

ed, the femoral artery barely missed, bone splintering through denim. He didn't stop to set the bone. He tore his flannel shirt into strips, b

mountain air had plummeted below freezing. Clara was soaked, cyanotic, he

. He stripped off his soaked, blood-caked leather cut, discarded the remnants of

e life back into her failing pulse. His rough stubble scraped her temple as

, his sweat dripping onto her cold cheeks. When dawn finally broke through the rotting timber, Clara's br

. If it were me, I'd just put a bullet thr

y helmet cracking against Diesel's back armor with a

rmly on the gravel shoulder of the highway,

lded from twisted exhaust pipes and rusted chains

d over his shoulder, his boots skidding a

ched over ape-hanger handlebars. The man in front wore a sleeveless denim v

obnoxious, deafening crackle that

a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the tire of Diesel's bike

r knife strapped to his thigh, his

lder armor, leaning forward. "Stand down, Di

h a solid thud. I stared straight at the Prospect through my tint

ing through the idling engines like a blade.