Page 84 of Making the King

I drive like a crazy motherfucker through the streets, Cain holding on and laughing as he bounces in the seat like he’s on a fucking ride.

“Take the next right.” Baz directs, looking down at his phone map, trying to get us there quicker.

“Hold on,” I hiss, giving them a warning as I yank the wheel and we slide in a loud screech around the corner.

“You’re going to kill yourself before you even get there!” Dante’s voice comes through the speaker, our open line still connected as him and Baz talk attack strategies.

“Nothing will stop me from getting to my wife!” I snap, and Cain claps.

“I like this version of you. I’d fuck you if I were gay.” He admits, and I frown, shooting him a confused look. “You know what. I’d legit just fuck you, anyway. You’re so sexy when you’re angry.” He purrs the last part and I shake my fucking head.

“Touch me and my wife will dice you up.”

He bounces in his seat again. “Ohhhh she’ll make it hurt so good.”

“Left!” Baz barks, and again, I jerk on the wheel, the back end of my truck snaking out and nearly taking out a parked car.

“We are approaching from the north. You’ll get there before us, but we won’t be far. Just go in guns blazing. They are likely waiting,” Dante informs.

“Do not kill Martina Rodríguez!” I yell, just having her name fall from my lips sending me into a red fucking rage. “Subdue her but leave her for Cara. Martina is her kill.”

“Noted.” Dante agrees and I relax a little.

That bitch is going to wish she was never fucking born.

“Industrial Road is your next left.” Baz notifies me, and I nod, my hands gripping the wheel tighter as nervous energy pulses through me.

I need to get to Cara.

I need to keep her safe.

Our next left isn’t as fucking violent as the others before it, finally turning onto the dark street and looking at the warehouse numbers.

“There it is!” Cain yells and points as he jigs around in his seat like he has fucking ants in his pants.

Killing the headlights and slowing the truck, I veer off the road and up the short driveway, bursting through the wire gates that were closed but not locked.

As soon as we are through, bullets start spraying my truck, and while Baz ducks in the back seat because that’s the fucking smart thing to do, Cain lets out a war cry, puts the window down and starts firing back.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” I hiss, and he laughs.

“I am invincible!”

“Jesus Christ.” Baz mutters from the back, as I slow the truck, looking for the entrance.

There’s a small entrance door, and there’s a garage type of roller door.

I choose the roller door.

“Hold on!” I yell, planting my foot down before my truck shoots forward toward the warehouse.

“Oh fuck.” Baz hisses as Cain laughs manically.

I love my truck. I worked hard to earn money to get it. But it’s expendable, and my wife isn’t.

We all yell, vicious sounding roars right before we slam into the door, the hard body of my old truck stronger than the door, peeling it open like a can opener.

Coming to a bumpy abrupt stop as my truck slams into the back of a white van, we are thrown forward, and I brace for pain, but it never comes.

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