“You drive straight through the gate and you do it fast. The pickup will break the lock fine. Up the highway until Blackstone. The tank is full. Don’t stop if you can help it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “There’s a gun and ammunition in the glovebox. More in the storage chest on the back. You use them to buy your way in if you have to.”
“I’ve still got my gun.” She’d slept with it wedged into her belt, safety most definitely on. “You’ll follow, right?”
Instead of answering he kissed her, mashing his lips to hers, hard and fast.
“Nick, tell me you’re coming too.”
He helped her out the window and down onto the dewy grass. Her breath misted the air.
“I’m going to follow,” he said. His eyes told her differently.
“You said you wouldn’t lie to me. Why aren't you coming?”
“Someone needs to distract them.” He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in, kissed her one more time. Her top lip felt bruised. So did her heart. How the hell had it come to this?
“Go,” he said.
“Come with me.”
“Go. Now.” He gave her a push and pulled the window closed, his face set. “Run.”
And she ran.
Frost covered the pickup’s windshield and windows. She threw the door open and dived in, fumbling in her pocket for the keys. The tip of the key wouldn’t go into the damn ignition. Her hands were trembling. Her blood pounded behind her ears. She could do this. In went the key, finally, and she twisted it hard. The engine roared to life. She jammed her foot on the clutch and threw it into gear, flipped on the windshield wipers to clear the frost. Her foot hit the accelerator and the pickup’s wheels spun on the slick surface. Then it took off, thundering toward the double gates, bound with chains and rope in the absence of a padlock. If Nick said the truck would take them out then it would. And it did. The front of the vehicle crashed into the metal frames and sent them flying. The bone-rattling shriek of metal scraping against metal came from beneath the vehicle, then half of the gate lay on the road in her rear-view mirror.
From behind her came the first gunshots. The popping of a pistol, followed by the boom of something bigger.
“Nick.”
They’d kill him. No. She couldn’t do this.
She slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a halt, smoke rising from the abused front tires. Nope, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him again. Driving away and leaving him alone to deal with those two bastards just wasn’t in her.
She’d tucked her gun in beside her. Seatbelt on. She spun the wheel hard, cracked plastic digging into her palms. Time to go. The pickup flew back down the road toward the ugly little house. More shots were fired and Justin ran out of the house, into the yard. Violence beat inside her. The least the bastard deserved was a bullet.
Driving and shooting at the same time always looked simple in movies. Her hand searched for the weapon she’d put beside her on the carseat. Bullets shattered the windshield not far from her head. The vehicle swerved wildly and she clutched at the wheel, trying to get it back under control. A headlight blew. Everything was out of control. She screamed and screamed.
Through the broken glass she could just make out the figure of Justin with his gun pointed at her. Her weapon rattled around on the floor now, beyond her reach. More bullets punched holes through the glass and she ducked. Justin had a grim smile on his ugly face.
He wanted to kill her.
That was fine. She wanted to kill him too.
Her foot pressed down on the pedal and the truck flew, actually going airborne for a moment when she misjudged the entrance to the driveway and jumped the gutter. The return to earth came with an almighty crash. Her teeth clattered, her brain rattled. With one hand on the wheel she sunk down in her seat and bore down on the bastard.
A bullet skimmed her ear. It was the noise of its passing that alerted her. She barely felt any pain.
Justin made no move to get out of her path. Still too drunk and stoned or whatever, she had no idea. And then he was out of time. She tried to brake too late. Nothing seemed to work right. The truck ploughed into him, punching him into the wall of the house. Inertia threw her forwards and pain filled her chest. Bricks and mortar flew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Pete was waiting for Nick when he opened the bedroom door. The man sat on the dodgy old single lounge chair smoking a cigarette, yawning and rubbing his eyes. A shotgun sat across his lap. Justin had passed out facedown on the floor, not too far from the front door. The air stank of smoke from the fire, the cigarette, and the weed. It suffocated him. It felt like his heart and lungs had shriveled up inside his chest. But he wasn’t done yet. His pistol sat tucked into in the back of his belt, fully loaded.