The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 44

I was going to leave it. I had to. But I did pocket the extra key Channing kept in the console. If they took me, if they brought the truck too, I could maybe get free and sneak back out? That was a lot of ifs and maybes, but I had no other choice.
I could get the gun then?
Palming the key, I knew I’d need to get it into my hair so they wouldn’t see. That fucker could hide in my hair. I’d just thrown my hair up in a messy bun when we left the springs. It was a perfect bird’s nest up there.
The guy was almost to the door when he took his helmet off. It was Richter. He made a rolling motion for me to open the window.
I did, but kept the door locked. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
“Hey, Heather.” He stepped closer to the door, a red bandana over his forehead. It almost covered his eyes, but I could still see them. He was studying me, cautious.
I didn’t respond, just extended a middle finger instead.
He chuckled, ducking his head a little. He leaned against the door. “I can see that fighting spirit. It’s nice to know Channing hasn’t taken that out of you.”
Why the fuck would he? Asshole.
I kept my mouth shut, though my throat burned. Rage licked my insides, warming me up.
“No answer?” He bobbed his head. “Okay. We can do it this way.” He motioned behind me and in front. “You know what’s coming next, right? You’re surrounded, Heather. And we have a job to do. We have to take you. I get it. I do. Your man doesn’t want me in Roussou, but the problem is I need to come into Roussou. I’ve got businessmen who have made it very clear they want to go through that town. Cops don’t patrol there so much, and we have to use that to our advantage. It’s business, Heather. No one has to get hurt.”
Richter wanted to drive drugs through Roussou.
Channing wouldn’t let that happen.
Channing was supposed to work with Traverse to replace Richter as the head.
Where the fuck was Traverse?
“And your guy that died? The one that shot himself?” I couldn’t keep the bite out of my voice. “We’re supposed to believe you won’t want payback for that?”
His eyes flashed. They were hard for a second before he masked them again. The smooth and slimy criminal moved back to the forefront.
“No, no. Sully shot himself. We saw the video. I won’t hold that against Channing.”
He smiled, and shivers wracked through my body. Even my toes curled.
“At least not yet,” he continued. “We’ll see if I hold it against him depending on how amendable he is when he finds out where you really are.”
Time slowed at that moment.
I had to decide. Fight or surrender? My choice would change my life forever. There was dread in my gut, a sick feeling that if I went with him, I wouldn’t live. But if I fought, it was the same result.
This was that last moment where I was still Heather Jax. My life was the way it should be—determined by my decisions, my choices. This, what he was forcing me to do, wasn’t my choice. Fighting and dying or being taken captive was not my choice.
It’s a weird feeling, realizing an actual fork in my life was occurring in front of me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew I would remember everything about this day. It was going to be seared in my memory.
It was hot. Humid.
Sweat filled the air, along with dust, smoke, and wild grass. I didn’t know wild grass had a smell until that moment, but it did. It was almost sweet, but pungent too. The heat in the air pushed down on me, making my lungs feel stifled—or maybe that was Richter.
As I stared at him in that small window of time, I noticed some things he didn’t, and I almost started crying in relief.
I heard the trucks approaching.
I heard one of Richter’s men yell at him.
And I saw what he didn’t.
The grass on both sides of us was moving—and not just a little. How Richter or his men didn’t notice was beyond me. Maybe they were focused on me, focused on their leader, making sure I didn’t pull a knife on him, or maybe they were distracted by the trucks coming up behind us. They were moving fast too.
Whatever the reason, everything slammed back into place. The fork disappeared, and I gasped out loud, knowing I could continue my life the way I was supposed to. My choices. My decisions. I wasn’t going to be taken captive or die today.
Those three trucks were Channing’s guys—one was Moose’s and another Chad’s.
I didn’t recognize the third.
A strange calm came over me.
I knew what I was going to do now.
I was going to fight. I was going to hurt them. I would not let them hurt me, hurt us.
“What the fuck?” Richter was distracted. He was still standing at the door to the truck, his hand now clenched in a fist, and he pounded it against the side. “Goddammit! I thought we had the back covered.”
A guy came up, winded. “We did. They pulled out from some other way. We don’t know where.”
Now. Now, Heather!
I bent slowly. They were both staring at the trucks, trying to figure how many were coming.
More of his men were approaching. They were between me and whoever was in the ditch. They still hadn’t noticed them. They were all watching the trucks.
I felt the gun under the seat, and I felt the Velcro strap holding it in place.
Channing, I hope you keep bullets in this weapon.
“What’s the plan?” one of Richter’s men asked, waiting on his bike.
Richter was still staring.
I had to move. Now. Richter was going to walk ahead, or—no.
He growled and reached for the door handle.
I grabbed the gun. My hand came up from under the seat as he reached in to unlock the door.
He saw what I was doing, and his eyes widened. “Holy shi—”
He was backing away as I brought it up, and then there were pop, pop, pops everywhere.
“AGH!” Glass exploded, but instead of Richter running, he lunged for me. He dove right through the window, catching my arm before I had the gun at his face. I couldn’t shoot him, but one of his guys was running back to his bike. I could shoot him—and I did.
The front window shattered. Some pieces rained on my face, and I closed my eyes, but I opened them in time to see the guy go down.
Richter was on top of me, clambering for the gun. The steering wheel blocked him so he couldn’t get a firm grip on it.
“NO!” I screamed, trying to wrestle away from him.
I have to hold that gun. I have to hold that gun. That was on repeat in my head.
Richter was too strong. He hadn’t punched me yet, but I was waiting for it. I couldn’t fight him. I couldn’t overpower him, but I could hurt him. I could twist away from him, and raising my leg as he was still trying to paw at the gun in my hand, I brought my foot down as hard on his knee as possible.
“OOOOOOW!”
He slammed backward, right into the door.
The fucking door.
Shit. I was trapped with him. I wanted him off of me.
I tried lifting him off of me with my feet, but I felt the gun slipping from my hand.
I had some space. That wheel kept him just above me so he couldn’t keep me completely paralyzed under him. Using that space, I twisted my hip up, gripped the gun, and yanked it backward with both of my hands.
“Goddammit!”
I brought my elbow back into his face and pistol-whipped him.
Then I scrambled out the passenger side of the truck.
“No fucking way, you bitch!” he growled, grabbing my ankle to yank me back. One hold on my ankle, one swoop, and I was right back where I started. He tossed my body like I was a sack of nothing.