Page 84 of Penance

Huxley readies himself, unsnapping his seatbelt. His window opening, the arctic wind slapping my skin. He twists, his body ready to hang out the side window.

A smile twists my lips, my tongue darting out to wet them. Even though I know it shouldn’t, excitement thuds through me. My skin prickling in anticipation. I shake my head at myself.

Focus.

I take a breath.

“You have to help me,” I tell Max.

Huxley nods, his dark eyes on mine, he knows whatever I’m going to do is going to happen, they may as well help over hinder. I straddle Max’s lap, my chest to his, his hands on my hips, my booted feet on the seat.

“Ready?” Kacey hollers, his deep timbre rattling my insides.

“Ready!” I shout back, the wind whipping through the open sunroof.

I look to my cousin, he nods. Kacey spins the wheel, the car jerks violently, I spring up through the sunroof as we hit the corner. Max’s hands firm and steady on my thighs. I hear the screeching of tyres as we race down a dark backstreet, every other street lamp out. My hair flies like silver streamers behind me, the arctic wind making my eyes stream. But I focus.

Inhale.

Squeeze.

The first car chasing us skids around the corner.

Aim.

The windscreen tinted so dark; I know that shit’s not legal. But I aim for the driver I can’t see anyway. Firing once, twice, three times. The car veers off to the left, cutting off the car behind it, slamming into the brick wall. The crunch of metal echoes around me.

Exhale.

Dom takes out a guy stumbling from the crushed car, the boom from his shotgun, the click. Bullets fly, I drop down inside the car, my chest heaving. Max’s grip moves to my waist.

“You okay, Princess?” his fingers flexing on my ribcage.

His grip so tight it feels as though he’s bending the bones into my thrashing heart.

“I’m good,” I smile confidently, toothy and wide, deranged most likely.

He chuckles darkly. Hefting me back up, clapping his big hand on my latex covered arse.

“Good girl,” he rasps, goosebumps smattering over my skin at his praise.

Kacey spins the car in the opposite direction this time. Huxley ducks back inside at the same time Dom does, reloading.

“Fuck!” Kacey grunts, slamming his fist into the dashboard, the car slowing.

I whip my head over my shoulder, seeing the problem.

“A skip?” Ronan scoffs the question in disbelief. “Dollface,” he barks next, turning to peer in the back where I left Ashlee.

I suck in a sharp breath, calming the adrenaline rushing to my brain as the boys start to pull Ashlee through the seats. I feel almost drunk. The alcohol I consumed hours ago no longer prominent in my system, but the high is there. That floating feeling where you teeter between reality and somewhere else. Excitement runs through me like a fast-acting poison. My demon snarls, clawing at my insides, she purrs, encouraging, wanting, she knows.

The car stops.

I smile.

Max frowns.

I laugh.

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