The car in front of me honked, and I jumped.
“Are you going to stand there like an idiot?” the guy inside yelled.
I glanced back at the couple. They’d stopped arguing and had trained their eyes on me.
Oh, no.
“She’s the one! Get her!” the woman barked, and her eyes flashed red.
Shit, shit, shit.
Hands damp and shaking, I grabbed the mace out of my apron and darted toward the Taphouse. In a blur of motion, the man sprinted around the edge of the lot and blocked my path.
No one could move that fast.
Panic seized my mind. Keeping the cars between us, I dashed toward my Gran Fury, but I skidded to a halt as the woman stepped in my way.
“Don’t scream, or I’ll gut you.” She glared at me with those haunting crimson eyes and drew a couple knives.
No. Not knives.
Her fingers erupted into claws.
Not possible.
The woman twitched, and I snapped my mace up and blasted it into her face. She screamed and hunched forward, rubbing her eyes and choking. “You bitch!”
I grabbed her hair, kneed her in the face, and tossed her to the ground. Then I leapt over her body and raced toward my car. At least life had taught me how to fight.
The tattooed man was on me in a second. I raised my mace, but he clamped his hand around my wrist. “I don’t think so.”
The driver who’d honked at me jumped out of his car. “Hey, let her go! I’m calling the cops!”
The tattooed psychopath released my hand, crossed the distance in a flash, and slammed his fist into the man’s chest.
Not his fist, his claws. Blood sprayed over everything.
This is not happening, my mind insisted. Every part of my body started quaking. I ducked around the end of my car and fumbled with my keys as I jammed them into the lock.
Please, please, please.
I wrenched open the car door, jumped in, and slammed it shut behind me.
At the noise, the tattooed psycho wheeled around and hurled the body of the driver into the air. The poor victim’s gurgling cry was cut short as he bounced off the hood of my car.
Screaming, I locked the doors and revved the engine.
Always park facing out—an underappreciated lesson from my dad. But before I could burn rubber, both attackers were at the windows, leering at me. The tattooed man punched through the passenger-side window, spraying glass everywhere. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, then thrust his arms through the window and strained to reach me with bloody claws, grazing my shoulder. I was too afraid to feel the pain.
I floored it, and my tires spun on the gravel. Then the car lurched forward, dragging the tattooed man with me. I swerved toward some small pines at the edge of the lot, and he grunted as I slammed him into the trees, breaking his hold.
With my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I fishtailed out of the lot onto the moonlit county highway and checked my rearview mirror just in time to see the woman haul the tattooed man to his feet. Then they started chasing me. On foot.
“What the hell is going on?” I screamed at the Gran Fury and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
There was no way those wackos should have been able to keep up on the open road, but they were, and gaining.
My throat clenched. Four years of track, and I couldn’t run half that fast.