Precarious(13)

“Okay,” I mutter.

He pats my shoulder. “Let the security guys go over you, then jump into the truck. They’re loading Dawson now.”

I give him a fake smile as I head towards security. They make sure I’m not packing any weapons to attempt a prison break, and then I walk over and climb into the truck. Larry is already in the driver’s side.

“Morning,” he grunts, nodding at me.

“Hi,” I say, feeling awkward. I cross my arms and tuck my knees up, waiting.

They load Beau about fifteen minutes later. Guards bark orders at one another, and then Peter jumps into the truck, staring over at me. He gives me a jerk of his head and then looks over to Larry. It’s awkward being stuck in between them. “We’re good to go.”

Then we’re off. Larry drives the truck out of the prison, taking us towards the highway. The high-security prison is about an hour and a half away, in the neighboring city. It’s not that it’s better than the prison I work at; it’s just that they tend to be better equipped to deal with the more aggressive prisoners. Not that Beau is an aggressive prisoner.

I pull out a book when we hit the highway, and busy myself reading while Larry and Peter talk casually between them. The ride is smooth and easy, at least until the deep rumble of bikes comes sailing through the window. Larry turns and stares out his rearview mirror.

“That the motorcycle gang?”

I shudder. It’s a club, for a start. Not a gang. And if it is, we’re in big, big trouble.

The other thing that bothers me, is that he doesn’t seem scared about it.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

They ignore me as Larry continues to stare out the rearview mirror.

“They’re early.”

What?

My heart picks up and I turn to find Peter with a gun pointed at me. I reel backwards, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Shit, Peter,” Larry barks. “It ain’t them. It’s the boy’s fuckin’ gang.”

The boy’s? Beau’s? What’s happening?

“What do you fuckin’ mean it’s the boys? How the fuck did they find out? It ain’t meant to be them. Speed up, get off this road before they have the chance to get hold of us.”

“What is going on?” I screech.

“Shut the fuck up,” Peter barks, shoving the gun out the window and taking a shot.

I open my mouth to scream, but it’s cut short when a bike lines up next to the truck. The biker, whose face is covered with a mask, raises his gun and shoots the tire, causing the truck to swerve off the road. Peter yells something, but I can’t hear what it is over my scream as the truck skids further off the gravel. We’re on a quiet stretch of road; there’s no one else around. This is bad, very bad.

We’re also on an embankment, and I know the exact moment the truck hits the edge, because it tips. My body is sent forward in a rush as it flips down the hill. I scream, but it’s no use. Metal crushes around me, pinning me to the chair as the truck continues its descent towards the bottom.

When we hit, my head is jerked forward, and it hits the dashboard with a thud. By the time we stop moving, I’m barely conscious. My head is pounding, my body feels like everything is broken, and my mouth is filling with blood. I’m trembling all over, and I can’t see.

I reach out, trying to feel something.

It’s silent.

“Help?” I croak—both men are silent.

No one answers. I try to blink, but it hurts.

I hear the faint sound of voices yelling, and then two gunshots. They go off at the exact same time. I want to scream, fear coursing through my veins.

A loud, crashing sound echoes through the air, and the voices near closer. A door is jerked open and the voices sound as though they’re in the cab with us.

“Dead,” I hear someone say.

I want to scream, but I can’t open my mouth. I can’t even move. Fear is holding me still. A gunshot rings out in the cab and my scream finally breaks free, although it’s hoarse and crackly.

“Now they’re both dead.”

Both dead? Both dead? Oh my God.

I open my mouth and make another gurgling sound.

“The girl is alive.”

Oh God.

“Take her,” a gruff voice says. Beau?

“That ain’t a good decision, Krypt.”

Who is Krypt? Confusion fills me. My body trembles and I make a whiny, broken sound as I try to cry out.

“Take. Her. She’s innocent in this.”

“Get her out.” A growl from another male.

Hands curl around my arms, and things get shifted and shoved out of the way. I hear grunting and muttering as I’m pulled from the wreck. Pain shoots through my body, and I cry out as I’m jerked into someone’s arms. I can feel every thump as he strides towards wherever it is they’re taking me.