Expecting to Die

Kywin!
Where the hell was Kywin Bell?
Frantically she searched the area near the truck. She’d left him writhing on the
ground, his face a bloody pulp, but . . .
Every hair on her scalp twitched. Goose pimples crawled up her arms, but she
saw the open door to the cab and she flung herself toward it. Just as she heard a
low growl and unsteady footsteps.

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From the corner of her eye, she saw him. He launched himself through the air,
a massive black monster. He hit her hard, his weight propelling her to the ground
inches from the pickup.
“You fuckin’ bitch!” he growled on top of her, big fists curled, as he worked
his legs to straddle her, pinning her arms with his tree-stump legs. “Did you
really think you could get away?” He snarled, looming like a monster above her.
His nose was mashed, his words nasal, his eyes bright with a need for personal
revenge. “You’re gonna pay!” He turned his head and yelled into the darkness. “I
got her! Up here! At the truck! Alive. For the old man.”
Her fingers tightened over the screwdriver. The way he was positioned, his
legs spread wide, her arms pinned together beneath his crotch, she had one
chance.
Now, she thought, do it now!
With all her strength, she reared up. Her clasped hands forced the screwdriver
upward, through his shorts and deep into his scrotum.
He roared in pain, tried to jump away. “Aaaaagggh!”
She shoved again.
“Shit! Damn. Fuck. Aaaaah, Geeeeod!” Still he was atop her. And she heard
running footsteps fast approaching.
Tophman!
She pulled back on the screwdriver. Heard a sucking sound, then with all her
strength, thrust up again driving hard.
With a shriek, he grabbed his crotch as something warm poured from his
shorts. He rolled off her, allowing her just enough room to slither away.
Screaming in pain, holding the juncture of his legs, he rolled in the earth and
cursed at her.
“What the hell?” Tophman’s voice—too close—boomed over the whimpering
and swearing of the man curled into a fetal position.
She didn’t wait. Clawed her way to her feet. Nearly fell into the cab and
forced herself inside.
The keys—the blessed keys—dangled from the ignition.
She turned the switch and the big engine roared to life.
Yanking the door closed, she caught a glimpse of Tophman, running now, not
far away, the shotgun at his shoulder.
She found reverse and hit the gas, the truck backing up. Tophman jumped out
of the way as the pickup bucked wildly over the rough earth, hitting something
solid as it stopped. Bell screamed again.
She’d run over him!
“Hey! Hey!” Tophman was yelling, but she threw the truck into first and,

---

sitting on the edge of the driver’s seat, floored it. Gravel and dust sprayed from
under the tires.
A horrifying shriek split the night.
Tophman yelled, “No! No! No! You fucking—oh, hell. Fuck her old man!”
She was going to do it! She would make it! If Tophman didn’t shoot her first.
What? Fuck her old man? Who were they talking about? Lucky? He was
behind this? “No,” she whispered. That had to be all wrong. He would never . . .
not even for fame or glory or money or . . . “No, no, no!” She pounded on the
steering wheel with a fist as the truth hit her. Hard. Understanding, vile as it was,
burned through her veins. Her heart thundering, her whole world turned upside
down to a dark oblivion, she tried to pull herself together. To save herself. She
stared at the break in the trees that had once been a road and now was just dry
earth in a narrow swath cutting through the forest. Good enough! She nearly
stood on the accelerator, the truck bouncing and shimmying as the big tires hit
rocks and roots and snags.
Somewhere, not far, she hoped, was the county road. If she could only get
there . . .
Blam!
Glass shattered, the back window exploding.
Shards of glass sprayed into the cab.
The truck shuddered. She wondered if the shotgun was capable of hitting the
gas line or the tires. Maybe she was lucky that he didn’t have a rifle with bullets
rather than shells.
Just drive!
Checking the rearview, she saw something on the crest of the hill where the
sun was beginning to rise, dawn breaking.
Bryant Tophman, shotgun stock at his shoulder, barrel aimed at the truck was
visible in silhouette. “Try it,” she muttered under her breath and shifted down as
she started around what had once been a corner.
Blam!
The truck shuddered, but kept moving, and Bianca, determined to make it
back to Grizzly Falls, to her mother, to her new baby brother and her bastard of a
father who would dare sell her, tromped on the gas pedal.

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