Free Keeping Allie (Breaking Away #3) by Meli Raine Page A

if I throw up, the vomit will just hit the shooting dude, right?
    Except there’s nothing to throw up.
    I retch.
    And retch.
    CRACK!
    Another shot whizzes by.
    Mark says something but I can’t hear a thing. Just a steady hum like someone put high-tension electric wires next to my ear. My lips go cold from the vibrations. 
    Hold on. Hold on . I remember what Mom said. I can do this. I can.
    I will.
    I face forward and look over Mark’s shoulder as more gunshots fill my ears. They aren’t as loud now. They’re fading, like popcorn in a popper.
    A bright light ahead, like a beacon, shines past me, right over my shoulder. I avert my eyes. 
    A terrible roar, then a weird shimmery sound, like tissue paper crinkling, fills my ears. I turn my head slightly and look in the rearview mirror on Mark’s right.
    The bike chasing us is down. Crashed.
    That light from ahead happens again. Are angels from heaven doing something to help us? Mark doesn’t seem affected. Another pop from behind. More shining, bright rays of light.
    More shimmery crinkling.
    Another bike is down.
    And then a third bike drives right into one of the downed bikes. It’s starting to look like one of those big car accidents you see sometimes on the news, when there’s an ice storm in Minnesota or a bad solar glare day in Los Angeles.
    Mark is weaving back and forth on the paved road, crossing the double yellow line like it’s just a suggestion and not the law. He’s graceful, like the sine waves we used to plot out in pre-calculus class.
    Like he’s a little loopy.
    Like maybe he got shot?
    “You okay?” I scream into his ear.
    He just nods.
    Something pokes me, right under my breast. I pull one hand away from Mark and shove it inside my bra. It’s the switchblade Mom gave me. My fingers are so weak it falls out, flying behind me. I imagine it bouncing, the blade sliding open, slicing a tire.
    That only happens in the movies. It’s probably sitting in a pile of dirt on the berm now, scuffed and broken.
    Like me in a minute, if I don’t grab onto Mark.
    We shoot past a car by the side of the road and I swear I know the man standing next to it. He’s holding a huge mirror and some kind of an electronic instrument.
    CRASH!
    Another bike down behind us. That’s four, and the other six or so are way back now. No one is directly on our tail. 
    The man waves as we cross past.
    It’s David.
    Oh, my God.
    He’s using a giant mirror to blind the bikers chasing us. He hides behind his car as we pass. I hope the remaining bikers don’t find him. 
    All that solar and electronics geeking out has just saved my life.
    Mark is talking, but he’s quiet. Does he have a radio?
    “Tell David he’s the best best friend ever,” I shout at Mark, who nods. He does nothing else, though. He speaks, then leans forward. We surge and off we go, two bikes behind us.
    I don’t know how much more time passes, but I hear a pop again. And then the sight of town peeks into view, the houses getting closer together. Mark goes through two red lights, swerving hard to miss an oncoming car, and he pulls right into the police station. Two cars with lights flashing create a barrier right there to meet us, a wall of cops with guns drawn hiding behind the cars. Mark snakes the bike around one side and—
    I can see the other two bikes turning around.
    I’m safe.
    But where are Mom and Chase?

Chapter Thirteen
    I never thought I’d be so happy to see Detective Knowles again. Mark cut through the barricade and dumped me on the ground by climbing off the bike, me still attached by bungee, and going flat on the ground. The two bikes on our tails had pulled giant U-turns, but the police nabbed them. I think Carson police called in officers and cars from another town. 
    I say “I think” because I blacked out as soon as Mark got off the bike. Someone carried me inside and all I know is I woke up covered in a blanket, shaking uncontrollably. 
    Now I’m sitting here in a tiny