Free Heavy Metal (A Goddesses Rising Novel) (Entangled Select) by Natalie J. Damschroder Page A

low wail, and a paramedic truck bumped over the shoulder, approaching the scene. She laughed and lowered her forehead to her knees, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as her body finally relaxed.
    “Hey. You okay?”
    She didn’t need to lift her head to recognize Sam’s voice or the heat and gentleness of his hand on her back. But she looked up, startled by the admiring glow in his golden-brown eyes, only inches from hers.
    “Yeah,” she managed, flushing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
    “You were amazing.” He glanced around. “We should get out of here. Traffic’s gonna be moving in a minute, and I don’t think talking to the police is a good idea.”
    “Police?” She stood on unsteady legs, a wholly different kind of weakness than when she first got out of the car. Sure enough, the lights of three state police cars flashed across the faces of the watching crowd. “Crap. Did anyone notice?”
    “Probably.” Sam ushered her around a stack of some kind of rubber tubes that were tall enough to hide them. “But no one will believe their stories.”
    “Unless they got it on video,” she muttered.
    Sam didn’t respond. His hand slid from her back down her arm. His fingers threaded with hers, and he tugged her to zigzag through the standing cars. Riley glanced over her shoulder once they were past the perimeter. A few cops waved at the traffic, ushering the first cars under the right side of the bridge, where they were supposed to go before the whole accident happened. Engines rumbled to life around them as people waited for traffic to clear.
    “You okay to drive?” Sam stopped next to his car. He brushed Riley’s hair back, tucking a few strands behind her ear, his expression now concerned. He kept casting quick glances at the cars and people around them. “Just to the next exit. It’s not far. We’ll stop at a restaurant or something.”
    Riley nodded and dragged herself away, trying not to shiver. They were in the middle of the highway. Even if Sharla and Vern or some other team had followed from Bridgeport, they wouldn’t do anything with so many police around.
    “I’ll follow,” she managed to croak, and pushed herself to a trot when cars rolled down the line. She got to her Beetle in time, ignoring the impatient honk from the guy in the car behind her.
    She kept her mind carefully blank as she followed Sam to a diner near the highway, but it didn’t stop nausea from digging in. She parked the car but gripped the wheel so tightly she couldn’t let go. She sat there, shuddering, until Sam opened her door and gently uncurled her fingers.
    “It’s okay.” He reached past her to turn off the ignition and pocketed her keys. “Are you hurt?”
    “N-no.” But the response was automatic. Sam lifted her knees and swung her around so her feet were out of the car. Crouching in front of her, bracketing her legs with his, he gently rolled her hands over. They were stained orange from the forklift’s paint but not bruised or bleeding. They didn’t even hurt, really. But her fingers curled over her palms, the tendons still contracted by the weight of the machine, compounded by her death grip during the drive.
    Sam held one hand and pressed his other on top of it, flattening her fingers. His callused skin rasped against her still-tender palms, and her belly shivered. The tendons slowly stretched under the pressure, and Riley nodded. “That’s good. Thanks.”
    Sam repeated the action with her other hand. “I should have done this before I made you drive here.” His tone was annoyed, but the warmth of his hands seeped into Riley, settling the shudders and the chattering teeth. She resisted the urge to run her hands through his hair, so close now instead of two feet above her. Sam lifted his head suddenly, caught her looking, and she sucked in a breath at the impact of his eyes meeting hers. She’d never known a guy who wore his emotions so plainly. Now it was self-disgust and concern, but after a