Keeping Secret (Secret McQueen) - By Sierra Dean Page 0,9

because soon enough they were back in the right lane and two more bullets zinged past me.

“Son of a—” Another bullet was fired, only this one didn’t miss.

Pain seared through my shoulder, and I lost control of the car when my legs twitched in response to the itchy burn between my collarbone and neck. Now I was really mad. I lifted the gun, but my arm responded by going limp and crumpling under the minor weight of the weapon. I was so startled by the uselessness of my own limb I almost dropped my gun.

Only one thing would turn my entire arm to dead weight so quickly.

Silver.

Whoever was driving the Corolla was using silver bullets, which sent a cool fear slithering down my back. I’d been through more than my fair share of kidnapping attempts and, stupidly, that’s what I’d believed this was. Or an incredibly motivated carjacker who really, really wanted a yellow BMW.

The silver bullets meant something more sinister. It meant this person was, without a doubt, here to kill me.

It’s not like people wanting to kill me was something new to me. I mean, I’d spent my formative years hunting down and assassinating rogue vampires. It isn’t the kind of job with a long-term life expectancy prospect attached to it. I’d been shot before. I’d been stabbed and bitten and a whole assortment of other bone-crushing, lung-rupturing, life-flashing-before-my-eyes type experiences. You’d think finding out someone was out to get me would be old hat by now.

But it never stopped sucking.

Especially because enough people hated me and wanted me dead I didn’t even have a short list for who might be behind the wheel of the car trailing us. The bullets meant they knew I was supernatural and not human, but it didn’t narrow the field much. Silver was used against both vampires and werewolves, and since I was both, I didn’t know which of my monsters they thought they were poisoning with the bullets.

I braced my feet against the wheel, making sure the BMW wasn’t weaving all over the highway, then transferred my gun to the left hand. It wasn’t my dominant weapon hand, but I could kill with it just as effectively.

My wounded arm drooped, swinging like a rag doll’s in the wind. The edge of the window dug into my ribs as I steadied myself for the next shot. I was lucky the bullet had torn right through me. The silver poisoning acted fast, but since the bullet wasn’t lodged in my shoulder, I would also heal faster. It would be more than a week before I was up to full health, but if I’d had to wait for the bullet to be removed, I might be waiting a month or more before I healed. Happy wedding day, Secret. Here’s a bullet hole to show off in your white dress.

I fired again, and this time I wasn’t aiming for the driver, in spite of the new open-air concept of their windshield. My target now was one of function over fatality. The Corolla’s front wheel popped with the gusto of a giant party balloon, and the car jerked wildly.

Instead of braking, though, the driver sped up. Brigit must have been watching the action because she had started to let up on the gas when I hit the black car’s tire. Between his increase in speed and our sudden drop, the physics of what happened next was inevitable.

Which didn’t stop me from being surprised when the Corolla smashed into our bumper for the second time that night.

My foot skidded, the wheel jerking to the right, sending our car into a spin. I sat upright, trying to get my beautiful purple shoes unstuck from the steering wheel, but I was caught, and getting out without looking was a hopeless puzzle. I kicked forward, and the car continued to spin in a full 360-degree turn.

With my elbows braced on the soft top of the BMW, I emptied the remainder of my clip into the open windshield of the black car. From inside my backseat there was a faint, continuous wail. At first I thought something had been hit and the sound was my engine failing. Then I realized it was Kellen.

We kept up our dizzying rotation, propelled on our circular course by my own stupid feet. The only way I was getting unstuck was to pull.

“Brigit,” I shouted into the wind. “I need you to grab the wheel.”

Cool hands brushed against my ankles, and I knew she had heard