Asher didn't just drive; he hunted. His hands were steady on the wheel, his eyes tracking the silver motorcycle in the rearview mirror with a cold, calculated focus. We were no longer fleeing; we were leading the rider exactly where Asher wanted him.
"Stay down and hold on," Asher commanded. "His voice dropped into a lower register, vibrating with a threat I'd never heard before."
Before I could ask why, he slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. The tires screamed against the wet asphalt, sending a spray of gray slush into the air as the car performed a perfect, violent U-turn. The motorcycle rider, caught off guard by the sudden change in momentum, swerved to avoid a head-on collision.
That was his first mistake.
