Page 20 of Wilde's End
He ignores me, and I’m forced to make the long drive back the way we came.
“You sure about this?” Kennedy asks, white-knuckling the handle above his head as I stomp on the gas so hard it feels like I’m trying to put my foot through the floor.
“Nope.”
He lets out some kind of sound, but I ignore him. For what it’s worth, thisshouldwork. I checked and double-checked with the guy who fitted the grille guard, and while I share Kennedy’s worry, I’m holding it off for now.
Fuck Wilde.
And fuck that stupid barricade.
It comes into view maybe fifty yards away, and I spend every one of those yards making sure I’m lined up perfectly and braced for impact. Kennedy’s free hand flattens against the glove box, and my grip on the steering wheel gets bruising.
A split second before we hit, I almost chicken out, but then it’s too late.
The front of the car collides with the towering pile of debris, and the grille guard makes easy work of it. Chunks of rock and timber burst out of the way, some rolling over the top of the hood and leaving huge craters behind in the metal. We screech to a stop, my lungs burning with how hard I’m breathing, andKennedy lets out a long “aaah …” that doesn’t stop as I shake the impact from my arms. Thankfully, the wall gave out easily enough that it didn’t set off the air bags, but fuck me. My heart is racing so hard I might be sick.
I have a lot of act first, think later moments, and this has probably topped the list.
Through the dust cloud, the faded red pickup comes into view, and a moment later, so does Wilde. He’s only a few feet from my front bumper, and if I’d hit the brakes any later, I would have taken him out.
We size each other up for longer than I can measure, and the only thing that breaks our eye contact is the rumble of a motor bringing up the rear. The dirt bike Hart is riding slips through the gap I made with a loudvrooooom.
Wilde watches as Hart flings up dirt and rocks as he shoots by, and then the sound of the motorcycle fades into the distance.
I crack my window until it’s low enough for me to lean out. “What else do you have for me to handle?”
Wilde ignores the taunt, thank god, because I’m still struggling to breathe. He climbs back into his truck as the big guy in the middle waggles his fingers my way.
I wait as Wilde backs up and pulls away, and only once they disappear behind a bend do I let myself fold forward over the steering wheel, like all the fight has whooshed from me. “Fucking hell …”
“Petition for us to never, ever do that again,” Kennedy says. “Ever. My heart is still trying to jump out of my fucking chest.”
As much as I’d love to reassure him that it’s over now, I also refuse to lie to my own brother. “I get the feeling we haven’t even started. Wilde doesn’t seem like the kind of man who loses easily.”
Kennedy mutters something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“IsaidI know the type.”
I lift my eyebrows his way, wanting him to elaborate.
“You, Huddy. If this guy is anything like you, I’m scared for whatever comes next.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
WILDE
Rooney lets out a long whistle. “That was hot.”
“Why, because he can drive a car? I drive one all the time. I don’t see the big deal.”
“We both know it had nothing to do with him driving.”
The one hand I have on the wheel clenches tighter as I drum my free hand on the window frame. Getting rid of these guys might not be as easy as I’d like, but I’m not giving up.
