Page 31 of Married into the Mob
“What the fuck?”
I stifled a laugh, or tried to, but it escaped as a choking sound. “What are you doing? It was only a couple of hours ago he’d done bunny hops down the road. “How could you forget it’s a stick shift.”
“I can do this.”
Gods, not again. Fuck, this was a farce more than an intrepid escape. The car jerked forward and stalled.
“How hard can it be? I did it earlier.” Hunter jiggled the stick but froze and glanced over his shoulder. Goosebumps crawled over my skin, though I couldn’t see or hear anything.
Until I did. Footsteps.
It might’ve been someone going to work and taking a shortcut through the alley. On either side there were old factories, long since silent, but there was a busy thoroughfare at the other end.
The footfalls were followed by growls. Maybe a wild animal had escaped from the zoo. What was the protocol when faced with a bear or a tiger? Did we run or stand our ground and out-stare them?
“Fuck!” That one word coming from Hunter suggested we were in deep trouble.
He was the kidnapper, the guy who’d saved me and steered me through life since this morning. And there’d been so much life. But Hunter wasn’t qualified to do one job and that was drive this old car. And I could.
How had my life come down to me driving a getaway car? Adrenaline surged through my veins as I screamed at him to get in the passenger seat. My one thought was getting us out of the damned alley in one piece.
“I don’t know how to do this.” Shoving the car in reverse, I pressed my foot on the accelerator, the first time I’d experienced any real power in almost twenty-four hours. Something thunked behind me, and a quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed shadowy shapes.
“There were four of them. Now only three! Shit, maybe you can do this! Go!” He said something under his breath that sounded like, “Their reflexes were slower than I’d expect. Odd!”
Odd? What was downright fucking weird was that I was driving away from bad guys, hoping to escape with my life.
Putting the car in first gear, we lurched forward. In my haste I’d taken my foot off the clutch too soon. Fuck, I was almost as bad at driving this as Hunter. But we didn’t stall, and with my hands gripping the wheel and foot pressed to the floor, I maneuvered along the alley.
There was a sharp crack, and my gaze leaped to the mirror. Guns! Those people wanted us dead, or just me. Or Hunter.
“Duck!” Hunter put a hand behind my head and bent it forward as something zinged past my ear.
We were going to die in this grim, stinky alley and no one would be able to identify me because my body was unrecognizable.
“I can’t see. I’m driving blind.” I shrugged off his hand and pushed myself into a position so I was just peering over the steering wheel. We’d probably crash anyway, but I had to give us a chance of staying alive. I gauged that at about one percent.
Maybe this was a dream and if I pinched myself hard, I‘d wake up. Or I could crash into the wall and when I opened myeyes, I’d be in my bed in the tiny room at home. Better not try just in case this was real.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder. “We haven’t lost them.”
“You were supposed to keep me safe!”My screeching voice filled the old car as it groaned. I was lashing out at Hunter because I was terrified, my life streaming in front of me, similar to an old-style film reel. “Putting the mark on my hand was a safety measure, you said.”
“How was I to know Draven was a psychopath?”
We shared a glance. “Of course he is,” we yelled in unison.
A glimpse in the mirror told me those men, clad head to toe in black, were running after us. How did they hope to catch us on foot? But they were speedy, faster than any world-record-holding sprinter.
But I had other problems. We were close to the end of the alley and traffic was backed up on the road ahead.
“Turn right.” Hunter was leaning around in his seat, staring behind us.
“I can’t. I’m not a damned stunt driver, and this isn’t a gods-damn movie set.”
“Just do it. I can’t protect you and take on three guys.” He fumbled at his side and pulled out a weapon from the holster. A gun. He had that freaking gun. Next he leaned over the back seat into a bag of clothes and rummaged around before pulling out another one.
“I can drive a stick shift, but I’ve never fired one of those in my life.” My throat hurt from all the screaming as I concentrated on getting us away from those men and wondering who they were.
