The Reed Montgomery Series Box Set

by Logan Ryles

  Reed sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in the seat. His left arm stung like hell and was soaked in blood. The interior of the SUV faded to dark as the lights of the town vanished over a hill. Reed checked the rearview mirror. No sign of The Wolf.

  The split-second survey was almost a second too long. The Mercedes coupe spun out of a side street and into his path, leaving him just enough time to jerk the Land Rover toward the ditch and avoid a collision. A rattle of gunshots pounded over the wind, and the back glass exploded.

  “Damn Uzi!” Reed pulled the wheel back to the left as the Land Rover bounced through a shallow ditch. Every time he tried to get back on the road, the front tires lost traction, and the Land Rover slid deeper into the ditch.

  His search for the four-wheel drive selector switch inside the console was futile, but just above the shifter was a silver label: FULL-TIME 4WD.

  Let’s see what you got.

  Reed twisted the wheel to the right and redirected the SUV farther into the ditch. The tires locked on the mud, and the four-wheel drive kicked in as the Land Rover hurtled out of the far side of the ditch and onto a city playground. A wooden tower next to a swing set exploded over the front bumper. Reed shouted and swerved to the right, barely missing a merry-go-round. Sand mixed with the snow, blasting into the air around all four corners of the SUV as bushes, playground equipment, and park benches were blown out of the way by the rampaging vehicle.

  Reed hit the windshield wipers, and they bounced over the cracked glass, clearing his view to the edge of the park. He swerved around a picnic table and between two oak trees, then slammed on the brakes. The SUV slid to a halt, rocking on its heavy-duty springs as the back end swung around.

  Stillness descended over the park. The hum of the engine was disrupted now by the irregular clicking of the damaged radiator fan. The hood was bucked upward, and steam rose from the engine bay, but the motor still rumbled.

  Reed looked around, searching the far side of the park for any sign of the Mercedes. The Wolf hadn’t followed him into the park, but his tracks were clear, marked by a war zone of broken playground parts and rutted snow. He wiped the sweat from his face and placed his hand on the shifter.

  The Mercedes appeared to his right just as the cops showed up on his left, both cresting the hill outside the playground, and driving toward him at different angles. Reed deliberated only an instant before turning away from the flashing blue and red lights. He couldn’t kill the cops, but he was damn sure going to kill this Wolf.

  Shoving the shifter back into drive, he planted his foot into the accelerator and turned toward the Mercedes. The four-wheel drive locked in again, and the SUV hurtled over the railroad tie retainer of the playground before bouncing back onto the road. Each landing sent jarring shocks ripping through his spine, igniting fresh pain in his pounding head. He turned the nose of the Land Rover directly toward the Mercedes and stomped on the gas again. All four tires spun, and then the SUV sprang forward as though it were launched out of a catapult, rocketing directly down the middle of the two-lane road.

  “Come on, bitch! Come get some!”

  The speedometer passed seventy-miles an hour as the space between them faded like ice in a skillet. The gleaming Mercedes logo hovered directly over the double yellow lines as The Wolf piloted his car down the middle of the road, straight for the Land Rover.

  Reed tightened his fingers around the wheel. I’ll crush you.

  He heard the chatter of the Uzi first. Bullets slammed into the windshield and tore through the SUV’s roof as The Wolf swung to the right at the last minute. A snap rang through the cabin as the front corner of the SUV’s bumper collided with the Mercedes’ side view mirror, ripping it off. The silver coupe flashed past Reed without an inch to spare, leaving a rush of cold air and gasoline fumes in its wake.

  Reed threw his head back and screamed, punching the steering wheel. He heard the squeal of tires behind him, then the sound of the coupe sliding around to give chase. He whipped the SUV off the street and back onto the state highway toward Lake Santeetlah.

  “Come on, Wolf. Let’s see if you run like you howl.”

  The accelerator bottomed out against the floorboard, and the speedometer rose—one hundred, then one-twenty—as the wide, straight highway stretched out in front of him. The needle kept rising as the motor roared louder under the rattling hood. Reed tightened his fingers around the wheel and pushed his foot to the floor.

  One-forty-five. The motor capped out as the SUV seemed to hover over the asphalt, rushing past the mountains in a blur. He had pushed the Camaro well into the triple digits many times before, but this was an entirely different experience. With no snow tires or racing suspension to press him into the pavement, he stood one breath of a crosswind from being hurtled off the road to his imminent death.

  Torrents of nervous sweat ran down his chest him as he searched for the Mercedes. Nothing but darkness filled his mirrors, and he relaxed just a little off the pedal, letting the engine wind down a few octaves. Blazing through the rear glass and illuminating the SUV, the unmistakable Mercedes rocketed toward him as though it was powered by jet engines.

  Reed jammed his foot into the accelerator again, negotiating around a gentle curve on the highway. The SUV rocked as though it were about to fly free of the pavement.

  I’d give anything for my Camaro right now. This jerk would be history.

  Reflective mile markers flashed past like Christmas lights as the Mercedes closed in on the Land Rover. The road began to rise and fall more aggressively, forcing both vehicles to decrease their speed, but leaving the clear advantage to the sports coupe. What had once been two hundred yards of buffer quickly shrank to twenty as The Wolf powered closer to the SUV. Any moment now, the chattering roar of the Uzi would open up again, slinging pounds of deadly lead through the back of the Land Rover and toward Reed’s head.

  Another curve appeared in the road, followed by a hill. Reed topped it first, followed by The Wolf a second behind. A piece of loose bodywork broke free of the Land Rover and flew over the roof. Something metallic clacked inside the engine bay, and a red light flashed next to the speedometer. With the radiator drained of coolant, the engine was starting to overheat.

  Reed pressed the gas, sliding around a tighter corner of the road with almost too much momentum. The Land Rover slipped dangerously close to the edge of the highway before the tires caught and pulled him back to safety. The active four-wheel drive was his only saving grace.

  Another straightaway opened up a full hundred yards of flat pavement. The Mercedes was too quick. It lurched forward, closing the gap between them in seconds. He saw the driver’s window slide down, followed a moment later by a hand clutching the small black submachine gun. Reed ducked and gripped the steering wheel, waiting for the burst of gunfire to tear through the back of his head.

  Moments passed, and Reed looked back to see the Mercedes slowing behind him. The gap between them grew wider as the German coupe rolled to a full stop, now fifty yards back. No cops or anything in the road before them warranted the sudden stop. Behind him now were the bright red taillights of the Mercedes.

  What the hell?

  The realization hit Reed like a fist in the face. There could be only one reason The Wolf would cut him loose so suddenly—only one reason he would break off the chase.

  Banks. God, no.

  The SUV creaked and groaned as it shot forward into the darkness. The blast of the wind burned his eyes and chapped his skin as it howled through the open windshield, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get back to the cabin.

  Twenty-Three

  Smoke poured from the engine bay of the SUV as Reed rolled to a stop beside the cabin. Darkness hung over the metal roof like a blanket, thickened by a dense screen of fog that descended ahead of the coming storm. Reed jumped out and slammed the door, circling the smashed front end of the Land Rover before pounding up the steps and into the cabin. The currents of tension that ruled his body made every motion
feel overpowered and reckless, as though he were no longer controlling his own actions. The front door slammed back on its hinges, and Reed searched the kitchen and dining room. Then he saw her.

  “Chris! Oh my God.” Banks jumped up from the couch, her eyes wide as she rushed toward him. “Where did you go? Are you okay?”

  Reed motioned her toward the back of the cabin. “You have to get behind the wall. Where’s Holiday?”

  “He got drunk and went to bed. Chris, what’s happening?”

  “Come with me. Don’t ask questions.” They hurried into the master bedroom, the only room, other than the bathroom, not fully exposed to the bank of windows covering the A-frame.

  Reed hit the light switch. “Senator! On your feet!”

  Holiday sat up on the bed, covering his ears and groaning. His face was pale and wrinkled into a deep frown. “Chris, what the hell? Get out of here!”

  “Get up, Senator.” Reed slammed the door shut and flipped the thumb latch.

  Banks hurried past him and sat beside Holiday, patting him on the back. “Wake up, Uncle.” Her voice was calm, reflecting her continued mental fortitude in the face of yet another wave of chaos.

  Reed peered through the four-pane window at the empty woods outside, then pulled the curtains closed. “Do you have any weapons? Firearms?”

  Holiday ran his hand over his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Guns, Senator. I need a gun.”

  Holiday shook his head as though Reed were speaking a different language, but he motioned toward the closet.

  Reed jerked the door open and rifled through the clothes, digging past jackets and three-piece suits until he found a hard case nestled in the rear of the closet. A sinking feeling washed over him as the contents were exposed: a single, break-action shotgun. It was an over-under model, with fancy scrollwork carved into the walnut stock, and a frame inlaid with gold etching, tracing patterns down the receiver and toward the barrel.

  “Is this it? Do you have a rifle?” Reed jerked the shotgun from the case and opened the breach. It was empty.

  “That’s all I have.” Holiday glared at him. “What the hell is going on?”

  Reed returned to the closet and dug into the darkness again. His hand landed on a paper box of twelve-gauge shells. As he read the label, his heart sank again.

  Birdshot. Shit.

  He slipped two shells into the open double chambers of the weapon, then slammed the breach closed before dumping the remainder of the box into his pants pocket. “They’re coming for you, Senator. Right now.”

  Holiday’s color drained, and his eyes flashed in horror. “Who’s coming?” His words slurred, spilling over one another as he tried to stand up.

  Banks forced him back onto the bed.

  “That’s a damn good question, Senator. One I’d very much like you to answer. Who tried to kill you in Atlanta?”

  Banks frowned at her uncle.

  Holiday buried his face in his hands. “No. They can’t get to me here. I have guards. The police. They’re outside right now, watching over us.”

  Reed returned to the window, peering through a slit in the curtain. “The police can’t save you, Senator. Maybe I can, but you need to start talking. Who wants you dead?”

  Holiday shook his head again, more adamantly this time. “No. I’m not talking to you about this. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but—”

  “Don’t test me, Senator!” Reed barked into Holiday’s face, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him.

  The senator’s head rolled back, and his mouth fell open. His memory, once fogged with confusion and intoxication, suddenly cleared. “You. . . . It’s you!”

  Reed cursed under his breath and took a step back. He should have seen this coming. He should’ve known Holiday would connect the dots eventually. How many times had the tired Senator told Reed he looked familiar? The cat was out of the bag now, and there would be no putting it back in.

  “You kidnapped me! You beat me in that trailer! ‘Don’t test me.’ That’s what you said to me then!”

  Holiday dove toward him, and Reed turned with a quick twist of his hips, raising his fist and driving it straight into Holiday’s temple with the full force of a left-cross. The senator’s assault stopped mid-strike, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumbled to the ground without a sound.

  Banks gasped and jumped from the bed with her hands covering her mouth. “Chris! What the hell! What are you doing?” Her voice cracked with emotion and panic.

  A sudden thud resonated through the window, followed almost immediately by a cry of pain, and then the unmistakable sound of metal slicing through flesh.

  Reed’s back stiffened as he shouldered the shotgun and hurried into the living room. “Stay here. Lock the door!”

  The words had barely left his lips before a loud pop rang out through the cabin, and the power went out.

  They’re here.

  Reed whispered this time. “Shut the door. Don’t come out for anyone.”

  He heard Banks turn the lock behind him as he slipped across the living room. The front door swung open on balanced hinges. In the distance, the lake lapped against the shore, while trees creaked and rustled. Reed waited for a moment, listening for any sign of the guards pacing outside, waiting and hoping for a reassuring shout from someplace in the shadows. Nothing. With the shotgun lifted, he stepped out onto the porch, adjusting his vision to the inky darkness. Nervous tension commanded every inch of his body. He had no idea what he was walking into or how many men waited in the darkness. The Wolf could be one of them, or maybe an army of goons wielding submachine guns stood amongst the trees. There was no way to know—no way to prepare.

  Where are you?

  His boots sank in the loose snow as he moved away from the cabin. Each step was measured and slow, bouncing back and forth between the shadows like a lynx on the hunt.

  The first guard lay face-up, his throat sliced ear-to-ear. Both his sidearm and rifle were gone, leaving nothing but a growing patch of scarlet snow and a corpse already stiffening in the sub-freezing temperature. Reed cursed and moved away from the body, sinking deeper into the shadows. A faint outline of footprints led away from the corpse, toward the lake, but they were rapidly filling as the snowfall returned, drifting down between the trees in a thickening cloud.

  Dry chills ripped through his chest, and his fingers tingled around the stock of the shotgun, turning red as he tightened his grip. The trees around him were conspicuously silent of the forest sounds he had become accustomed to—the scampering of a squirrel, the hoot of an owl. Only the wind and the creek of the trees broke the stillness, each step bringing him closer to the lake and deeper into the shadows.

  A scream ripped through the forest. Loud and long, then cut short. It was a man’s scream—another one of the guards. Reed jerked the shotgun to his shoulder and spun around. The muzzle rose and fell with each breath, and once again the forest fell into deathly stillness.

  Where are you?

  Reed swallowed back the knot in his throat and crept toward the cabin. Slipping behind a tall red oak, he knelt in the dirt, watching the cabin through narrowed eyes.

  There.

  It wasn’t movement, or even the sound of a twig breaking in the stillness. It was a shadow with a hard outline—too hard and defined to be natural—huddled behind a bush twenty yards away. Reed held the shotgun just below his eyeline and faded between the trees like an apparition. Each footfall was slow and deliberate, minimizing the sound of collapsing snow. The wind picked up around him, howling through the trees, as he moved another ten feet around the back of the bush and toward the man on the other side.

  He pivoted the muzzle of the shotgun around the bush, coming to rest on a body lying on the other side. The second guard lay on his back, his throat torn open, and his vacant eyes filled with death.

  The realization hit Reed a moment too late. He turned and ducked, but couldn’t avoid the blow to the back of
his neck with the force of a baseball bat, knocking him to his knees and sending the shotgun tumbling from his fingers. Reed hit the ground and rolled to the left, twisting his body to avoid the next blow. Bone cracked as something hard and cold collided with his shin, and the pain that rippled through Reed’s leg was almost as powerful as the fear that dominated his mind.

  A mountain of a man leaned over him—a full seven feet tall, with gargantuan hands, gripping a four-foot metal pipe. The moment their eyes met Reed’s heart skipped a beat. The big man grinned, with gapped teeth. One eye stared at Reed while the other wandered at random, gazing into the forest.

  The goon from prison. Did he work for Oliver all along?

  His thick lips sneered down at Reed as he swung again, straight for Reed’s chest. Reed rolled to the left, and the metal pole slammed into his hip with bone-crushing force, igniting pain that shot down his leg and flooded his brain.

  The shotgun. Where’s the shotgun?

  Reed clawed at the dirt and swept his arm through the low piles of loose snow. He fought to pull himself backward, then felt the smooth metal of the double-barrel shotgun beneath his fingers. Before he could snatch it up, he saw the glint of the pole arcing through the air toward him. He rolled, and the weapon glanced off his shoulder.

  No. I’m not dying this way!

  Reed lifted the gun and swung the muzzle toward the giant’s torso. The big man was already mid-swing when Reed pressed both triggers, dumping two twelve-gauge shells directly into his chest. The thunder of the shotgun shook the forest as the birdshot tore into the man and launched him backwards.

  Reed snapped the breach open and dug fresh shells out of his pocket, slammed them into the dual chambers, and flicked it shut again. The snowfall that swirled around him assumed the shape of a vortex, mixing with the wind and tearing at his hair. He spun back toward the forest and raised the shotgun. Twenty yards away, circling between the tree trunks, a shadow ran away from him, deeper into the woods.