Page 36 of Filthy Savage
She nods and begins to do exactly what I say. Once the shower is on, I step inside. She’s already naked. I place a finger to my mouth, signaling to her to stop her from speaking, and I point at the bag again. It has a simple t-shirt and boxer-styled shorts with a drawstring in the waist. Instead of letting her go into the shower, I make her put it on, and throw my phone into the shower stall, submerging it in water. We head to the back door of the room and exit, leaving every item Angel packed at her place, as well as her purse from the library. Even that piece of shit minivan is staying behind for the rest of this little trip.
One of the Satan’s Saints trucks is out back, exactly where we left it for exactly these types of emergencies. With a hand on her shoulder, I lead her to the passenger side and help her in. Getting into the driver seat, I start the truck and drive off, taking a gravel side road as opposed to getting back on the main road.
“You can speak now,” I inform an angry Angel. “Sorry I had to get a little firm back there.”
“That was not a little firm!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Uh. No. You left everything I own back there!”
“It was for your own safety.”
She snaps on her seatbelt and folds her arms over her breasts. “You realize I’m not even wearing a bra or panties, right? And turn off the damned A/C. Will you at least tell me what happened back there?”
“My friend’s phone was bugged. Possibly mine too. I couldn’t take any chances that they did the same thing to something of yours. Maybe your backpack or purse. But it doesn’t matter. The point is we’re being followed. I did what I had to do to ditch the fuckers. Got it?”
She glances over at me, glowering. “Thank God I brought flip flops.”
I screech the truck to a halt and tug those slippers off her feet, throwing them out my driver side window. “Sorry. Can’t risk it,” I tell her, starting the car again.
“How do you know your stuff isn’t bugged?” she asks.
“I just know.”
We aren’t half a mile up the street when bullets start flying past the truck. Angel flinches and ducks low in the seat.
“What the hell is happening?” she shrieks.
I lower my head close to the steering wheel and check my side mirror. Two dark Camaros and six choppers follow. I’ve been expecting them to close in long before this, so this surprise attack is more of a snag, and less than surprising. The Los Diablos are sure to have set up a little hiccup.
“Get down, hold onto the dash, and stay down!” I shout, yanking the wheel in the opposite direction to avoid getting shot directly on our gas tank.
The next one goes wide. There’s only that whizzing sound. I zig-zag to stay ahead of them. This road has no exits for at least a few miles, so we need to hang tight and outlast the fuckers.
“I thought we left the bike behind and took that minivan to get them off our ass! Now we have a truck?” Angel cries out from her position, lowering to the floor between the seat and the console.
“I’m kind of a hard son of a bitch to miss when you’ve got people looking. And we’re still getting them off our ass, so keep it down and let me focus!”
Angel gasps as I throw my foot into the brake and abruptly turn the truck, driving off the road and down a two-foot drop of a natural arroyo. Three choppers and one Camaro jump the gap, but the other vehicles playing target practice with my ass aren’t careful enough. They dive right in. No way will those front axles survive that ditch.
Four down, four to go.
Still, the chances of getting past four pursuers are slim, particularly since I haven’t had the chance to reach the supply of weapons behind my driver seat.
“Their aim sucks,” Angel says out of the blue.
“You’re complaining?”
“No. I’m just saying. This is why I don’t ever skip out on solid time on the shooting range.”
“You know your way around a loaded weapon?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I can shoot with the best of them.”
“Good. That’ll come in handy,” I tell her and floor it, navigating the vehicle through the desert brush.
We can’t keep up this pursuit for long. That reality hits home quite literally at the sound and debris caused by a bullet hitting and shattering the driver side mirror. When I notice a three-meter wide arroyo with at least a fifteen-foot drop coming into view alongside the path we’re on, I know what needs to be done.
