Free Sudden Death by Nick Hale Page B

jungle, daubed with graffiti. The other bike was gone now too, but Devon kept going. The speedometer read forty miles per hour, but it felt faster. Devon turned to look behind, and didn’t see the pothole in the concrete.
    The front wheel jammed and twisted.
    The handlebars jarred sideways and the bike went into a skid. Devon must have squeezed the brakes. Jake’s foot went out automatically to stabilise himself, but he fell from the bike, hitting the concrete and rolling. His helmet smacked off the ground.
    He heard Devon cry out as he too bailed off the Yamaha. There was a crunch as it hit a lamppost.
    ‘Jake?’ said Devon, scrambling over and pulling off his helmet. ‘Don’t move your neck!’
    Jake couldn’t help but try. Thankfully, it responded fine. He lifted his head slowly and raised a hand to take off his helmet. The hand was bleeding from a graze and his shirt was torn, but other than that he was unharmed.
    A plane crash and a bike crash . . . what’s next?
    ‘I’m OK, I think,’ Jake said. Then panic jolted him. What if Devon was injured? They’d be in a world of trouble. ‘Are you hurt?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ replied Devon, helping Jake up. ‘Which is more than I can say for the bike.’
    The front wheel was still spinning slowly. The axle was bent out of shape and fuel was leaking in a puddle from the tank.
    ‘Should we call the police?’ said Jake uncertainly.
    ‘Never mind that,’ said Devon. ‘I got two more of those back at the hotel. Let’s just find a taxi.’
    Jake stretched his neck as they walked away. ‘That was crazy,’ he said.
    ‘Damn photographers,’ said Devon. ‘I can’t go anywhere these days.’
    That wasn’t quite what I meant,
Jake thought, but he kept quiet.
    They were lost, no doubt about it. Some sort of dilapidated housing estate made up of tower blocks and clusters of low-rises surrounded them. Half the windows were boarded up, and some shreds of washing hung outside on lines, but there wasn’t any sign of life. With dark closing in, Jake suddenly felt a shiver of fear.
    ‘I think the main road is this way,’ said Devon, pointing to a narrow alley. Jake wasn’t at all sure, but he followedanyway. They soon reached a dead end where a mesh fence blocked their path. ‘Maybe not,’ said Devon.
    The scuffle of footsteps made them both turn. Back the way they’d come, two men were blocking the alley entrance.
    We’re trapped.
    Jake couldn’t make out their faces, but as they walked towards him and Devon, there was no mistaking the menace in their steps.

9
    J ake raised his fists and stepped in front of Devon. The guys were big, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. With any luck, he could get in a punch and give them time to escape. He doubted very much that these giants could beat them on foot.
    As the men walked out of the shadows, Jake saw that one of them had a nasty pink scar down one cheek, and from the bulges in their jackets he guessed they were both carrying guns.
    ‘Are either of you hurt?’ asked one of the men.
    Devon put a hand across Jake’s chest. ‘They’re on our side, Jake.’ He shook his head at the men. ‘We had an accident, that’s all. No one to blame.’
    ‘Good,’ said the man. ‘Mr Popov would be upset if his investment was damaged. Follow us please, Mr Taylor.’
    There was no arguing with the tone in his voice. Theyfollowed in the wake of the bodyguards to a waiting black Mercedes. One of the men opened the door.
    ‘What about the bike?’ asked Jake as he climbed inside.
    ‘Mr Popov will take care of it,’ came the monotone reply. Jake shared a look of concern with Devon, but he just shrugged.
    The car threaded through the backstreets of the city and stopped at Devon’s hotel on the way back to the stadium. The concierge opened the door for Devon.
    ‘Dad will kill me if he finds out about this,’ Jake said. ‘Can we keep it quiet?’
    ‘Absolutely,’ said Devon. ‘My sponsors wouldn’t be too happy,