Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
He could look downright lethal when he wanted to, but I only got a glimpse of it before he closed my door, turned, and headed to the next pump.
Through my window, I watched as he made his approach. He announced loudly he was a Deputy U.S. Marshal, drawing the attention of the man who had one hand on the nozzle. The guy was short with red cheeks, and I wondered if it was the cold, or if his skin was always flushed. His posture was relaxed, which was . . . odd.
The man casually withdrew the nozzle from the tank, and when Jason was close enough, he squeezed the handle and shot a stream of gasoline in Jason’s direction.
He turned away only a second before impact, and it splashed all over the back of his head and down his coat.
“Fucking hell,” Derrick groaned. He slammed a foot on the brake at the same moment he hit the ignition switch, and our SUV’s engine fired up.
The flush-cheeked man dropped the nozzle, ripped open the passenger-side door, and darted inside the car while Jason wiped furiously at his eyes. He struggled to bring his gun up, but the dark sedan peeled out of its spot before he could aim.
Wheels screeched as the sedan turned, and my heart plummeted into my stomach as it barreled straight at us. Derrick threw the SUV into gear, and we lurched forward . . . but not fast enough.
The sedan careened into us, its front end colliding with the back bumper in a sickening crunch of metal and plastic. The force knocked us sideways, but the sedan didn’t stop coming until it had us pinned against a pump.
“Get down!” Derrick yelled.
I threw myself on the floor.
The hail of gunfire was deafening, and I couldn’t even hear my screams over it.
A million pebbles of glass rained down as the side and back windows shattered. There was an awful groan of metal and rubber squealing against pavement as the SUV abruptly lunged backward. Derrick must have put it in reverse, but he was driving blind since his head lay across the passenger seat.
Tires screeched and smoke poured through the now non-existent windows, making me cough.
The SUV jerked to a sudden stop, but only long enough for him to change gears. He stomped on the accelerator, launching the vehicle forward like it was on a winch. The strength of it flung me against the footwells of the back seat. Everything was happening too fast, and it was too chaotic for me to even breathe. Derrick sat up and pulled a turn hard enough I was sure we were going to tip over.
But we didn’t.
“Laurel?” His voice was surprisingly calm.
Could he hear me over the protesting tires? “I’m here.”
“We’ve got to get to Jason. Can you reach a door handle?”
“Yeah. Yes.” I didn’t dare lift my head, but in my confusion, I had no idea where we—or Jason—were. The way the shards of glass rolled around on the carpet made it feel like we were driving in circles.
“Passenger side?” he asked.
“Yes,” I gasped.
Derrick yanked his gun free from his holster, keeping one hand on the wheel. “Open it when I say so.”
It was mere seconds and yet a lifetime as I waited for his command. The SUV slid to a stop, fishtailing, which would have made me nauseated if I weren’t already.
“Now!” Derrick raised his gun and fired repeatedly. I flinched at the retort of his shots and hurled the door open, only to be flattened by Jason as he dove in on top of me. He was heavy, dripping with gasoline, and . . .
Still alive.
The SUV peeled out, the force slamming the open door shut, and the vehicle took a tremendous bounce like it hopped a curb, smashing Jason’s body into mine painfully.
“Are they following?” he yelled.
“No. Their car’s too fucked up.”
I couldn’t breathe, but the two hundred pounds of man on top of me could have been the cause. I didn’t really want to breathe with the fumes, anyway.
“Are you injured?” he asked Derrick. “Can you keep driving?”
“Yes, I’m all right.”
He had one hand on the side of my neck, the other supporting himself as he took his weight off me. “What about you?” His expression betrayed him. It gave away just how concerned he was.
“I’m okay,” I said.
But he scanned for himself like he didn’t believe me. “There’s blood.”
There was? I looked down. “It’s yours.”
There were scratches across his hand that were red and angry but didn’t look deep. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I’m not hurt. Are you okay?”
It was cramped in the back seat, but he moved to fit his body on the floorboard. It had to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to notice anything other than me. His gaze didn’t waiver.