Page 29 of Ride Hard
Sloane
Idrovefor a long time with nodestination.
The sun was on our left, which meant it was mid-afternoon. Without a watch, I was flying olden-days style. You know, navigation by celestial bodies and all that shit…and road signs. Ahead, a green slab of metal told me it was fifteen miles to some place calledLawrenceburg.
Chaser had said nothing since we left the gas station. He hadn’t lost consciousness or kicked the bucket, he’d just not said a single word. It wasn’t reassuring considering the amount of blood he’d lost and the lack of direction he’d given other than north. So I just drove with one eye on the road ahead and onebehind.
The fact we weren’t being followed meant nothing. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with us. That was what worried me the most. We were still on the east side of the country, and there were still a lot of miles, cops, and bad guys between California andus.
After a while, Chaser reached up and undid the tourniquet around his upper arm. Slowly at first, then he undid it entirely and tossed it onto thefloor.
I eyed him, trying to see if more red stuff was pouring from hisarm.
“Has the bleeding stopped?” I asked after amoment.
“Yeah.”
“That’s good,right?”
“For now.” He narrowed his eyes, giving me a suspicious once-over.
“What does thatmean?”
“It means, if the wound reopens, I’ll be back where I started.” He glanced out the window. “Where arewe?”
“Indiana… I think. Or we might still be inKentucky.”
“Youthink?”
“You said north, so I went north-ish,” I shot back. “We can go to Canada if you want, but unfortunately, I forgot mypassport.”
The city limits of the mysterious Lawrenceburg loomed in the distance. Streetlights turned on as the sky darkened, and I saw a sign for a motel coming up on the left. The thought of having to sleep in the car wasn’t appealing in theslightest.
“I’m pulling in,” I declared, veering off theroad.
Chaser didn’t argue, which was a boost to my confidence. It must’ve been the first smart thing I’d done since this chaosbegan.
Stopping the car by the main office, I turned off the engine and held out myhand.
“Give me some money,” Idemanded.
Chaser grunted and went to get out of the car, but I reached over him and jerked the doorclosed.
“You’re not going into that office with blood all over you,” Isaid.
“It’sfine.”
“No, it’s not. Blood means questions. We don’t need any of those right now.” Straightening up, I cupped his cheek and forced his face toward mine. “For once in your fucking life, trustme.”
For a split second, I thought I felt him open up a little, but he jerked away. Reaching into his back jeans’ pocket with his good hand, he presented me with a fistful ofnotes.
Snatching the cash off him, I slipped out of the car before he changed hismind.
I got us a room at the back of the motel, convincing the clerk at the reception desk we preferred not to deal with the road noise. Eighty bucks with a twenty change later, I got back into the car and drove us around to the rear. I found a spot by the door to our room, and good for us, it was away from any prying eyes. A blood-soaked man was exactly the thing people called 911 to anonymously tipabout.
The room wasn’t much to look at, but they never were. Not in recent experience, anyway. There was a double bed, a table and chairs, a sink with a kettle and microwave, a TV, and a separate bathroom. Ironically, even with the awful mustard color scheme, it was larger and way more furnished than my studioapartment.
Chaser sat down at the table and checked his arm. In the disgusting lighting, he looked really sick. Now I had time to study it, I realized the bullet had grazed his arm to the point it had carved his flesh apart. Straight across the surface like a stone skipping overwater.
