Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Yes, it’s on.” Rose’s fingers claw into the seat as I swing a right. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t yell. Because she knows we have no choice in this moment. I look up at the rearview mirror and pull a sharp left. “Fuck,” Rose blurts, her palm slapping into the window.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking an immediate right, bringing her flying across toward me. “Hold the handle,” I order, pointing to the top of the door. “And try not to tense too much.”
She laughs and takes the handle. “My God, what the fuck are we doing?”
I look up and see the blue lights gaining, the cop car matching every turn. I screech around the next corner, back onto the main road, and put my foot down. The light up ahead changes to yellow. “Fuck!”
“Oh, God, Beau,” Rose sings, both hands taking the handle, her face hiding in her arm.
I check the traffic, seeing a truck approaching the crossroad, ready to sail through and take us out. I need to beat it. If I don’t, we’re done. If I do, the cop car will be held up and we might stand a chance of making it back to the house alive and in one piece. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, flooring it, bracing my arms against the wheel, closing one eye.
“Beau!”
“I can make it.”
“Fuck, Beau!”
I start yelling, shying away from the wheel, hiding like Rose. The sound of the truck’s horn blares, along with other cars. Brakes screeching, smoke rising from tires.
The truck about ready to plough into the side of us.
“Fuck!” I feel the back end of the car brush with the nose of the truck. “Oh my God!”
“Shit,” Rose gasps, her hand on her chest, looking back. I peek up at the rearview mirror to see the truck in the middle of the road, a faint blue glow surrounding it from the police car behind it.
I nearly lose my breath when I see the car appear around the truck. Not giving up. “Shit,” I whisper, pulling a sharp left, then a right, then another left. I screech down the bumpy road and skid out onto another main road, then back into another alleyway. I stop and look at Rose. “Out.”
“What?”
“Rose, they might catch up with me. You can’t be in the car when they do. That door leads into a hotel. Get Danny to pick you up.”
Her face falls. “No, Beau.”
I growl and get out, rounding the car and opening the door, physically removing her. “I’ll be okay.”
“Beau, for fuck’s sake!”
“Get in the fucking hotel, Rose,” I yell, and she flinches, moving back, stung. I take a few calming breaths and quickly hug her. Then I get in the car and drive off, looking down at my lap when my phone rings. It’s not who I expected.
“Beau?” Ollie’s voice sounds frantic with worry.
“Was that you behind me?”
“No, fuck, no, Beau!”
“Then who?” I yell, turning onto the street. “Who the fucking hell is it chasing me in a cop car?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’re lying!”
“Jesus Christ, I am not lying.”
I look up and see the blue lights through the haze of my watery vision. “Is that you behind me now?” I listen carefully down the line. And I hear it. The sirens. It is him. I hang up and smack the steering when on a yell, then take the next turning for the freeway, heading toward MIA.
And the bank.
I park on a nearby back street and go to the front of the building, peeking through the glass doors and gazing around. It’s quiet. To be expected in this part of town at this time of night.
But then I see something and move to the side to conceal myself. I recognize him. It’s the guy I saw in the picture on Danny’s desk and at the Minute Key. Kenny Spittle.
Didn’t they shoot this piece of shit?
I pull my gun and wait, and as soon as he turns to lock the door behind him, I wedge it in his temple. He stills. Curses.
“Open up,” I say.
He inhales sharply and peeks out the corner of his eye to see if it’s really me.
“The Brit and The Enigma won’t show up to save you this time.” I force the gun farther into his temple as I pat him down, checking he’s clear, before taking the briefcase in his hand and tossing it into a nearby bush.
“I’m legit,” he says, sounding panicked as he pushes his way in, me following. “Do you think after what I’ve been through with those two I’d fuck up again? They held me in a metal container for weeks, for fuck’s sake. Starved me!”
“Shut up.” I lead him with my gun to the next door. “Where’s security?”
“Through there.” He points to a closed door, and the sound of a TV drifts into my ears. A football game.