We’re almost out of here.We're going to make it.
Except… I can just make out the sound of an approaching engine. It seems the time Phil bought us has finally run out. I punch the gas and the truck jerks forward, the front end clipping the bumper of one of the stacked cars. The tower of metal wobbles a little, enough to concern me, so I press the gas pedal all the way to the floor. And immediately let up again when I have to take a sharp turn. Even if I knew how, these aren’t the kind of corners I could “drift” around.
I’ve seen plenty of movies where people are chased through a junkyard, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen acar chasein a junkyard, and now I understand why. Mainly because the limited space doesn’t lend itself to any real speed. The smaller and more maneuverable sedan I’ve caught glimpses of is quickly gaining on us, the distance that took me twenty minutes to carefully navigate in the truck taking the smaller vehicle much less time.
There’s no way we’re going to outrun our pursuers, not like this, but what else can I do?
I eyeball the towers of twisted metal on either side of the truck, an idea taking shape in my head. I press my foot down on the gas a little more, and as the sedan turns into sight behind us, I twist thewheel so the backend of the truck hits one of the stacks of crushed cars.Hard.
The tower wobbles, leans, then topples over like a downed tree. There’s a screech of metal as the falling pile collides with the one across from it, but the fallen section ends up leaning against the still standing one instead of crashing all the way down.
The whole thing feels like a weird real-life version of Jenga with squashed metal instead of wooden blocks. But in this case, having the tower falls means I’m winning. Or at least not losing.
The sedan’s driver tries to shoot under the leaning pile at the exact wrong moment. One of the cars near the bottom shifts just enough to destabilize the rest of them, and the tower falls to pieces right on top of the sedan, burying it under a pile of twisted metal. A twinge of guilt runs through me, but I can’t afford to waste time worrying about the fate of Doyle’s goons.
I spare the mess one last glance, send a mental apology to Phil who will probably have to clean it up, then continue driving forward at the same speed. A minute later, the narrow passage widens, the towers of cars ending, and what must be the back gate looming ahead. But unlike the one at the front, this gate is secured with a thick length of chain and a padlock.
Um… what the hell am I supposed to do about that? Ram it?
There’s no time to waste debating options. I slam on the gas again, gaining as much speed as I can before the front grill of the truck slams into the gate. A shudder goes through the truck, but it keeps moving forward. The chain strains against the force, but eventually breaks, allowing us to escape onto a road that’s barely more than two rutted tire tracks weaving through the sand and rocks.
Thankfully, the poorly maintained track isn’t hard to follow and we eventually find our way back to an actual road after weaving through the desert for a while. I pause at the intersection where our escape route meets pavement and meet Raquel’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“East? West? Any preference?” I ask.
She shrugs. “West will get us to California, plenty of space to get lost in.” She flashes me a tight smile. “That would be good, right?”
At this point anywhere there’s a door we can lock, a bed, and a shower would be good, so I’m not going to argue. Where we go doesn’t matter so much as finding a safe place to regroup.
“West it is then,” I say, putting my turn signal on by pure reflex.
Wolfie suddenly gets to his feet. He nudges my shoulder with his nose and lets out a soft whine.
I glance at him, brows raised. “You don’t think we should go west?”
He lets out a sharp bark and tilts his head in the opposite direction.
Okay then. I meet Raquel’s gaze again. “Any objections to going east?”
She shakes her head and shrugs one shoulder. “I’m more than happy to go along with that if he has a preference.”
“Eastit is then,” I say, chuckling a little as I turn the truck in that direction. “Navigation by wolf, that’s definitely a new one.”
Wolfie barks again, nuzzles my cheek, then settles down with his head in my lap. I’m not sure where he’s leading us, but as long as we’re headed away from Vegas, I don’t think it matters. I’m sure there are plenty of problems still ahead of us, but Doyle and his goons hopefully won’t be one of them.
Seventeen
Neil
Almosttenhoursofdusty, winding back roads later, I pull the truck into the parking lot of a dingy-looking roadside motel. Half the lights in the sign are broken or burnt out, the remaining letters flashing an anemic yellow green against the night sky. The motel itself is a bit dilapidated, and the parking lot is cracked and uneven, but it will have to do. I don’t think I have another mile in me.
No, IknowI don’t have another mile in me.
After driving hundreds of miles with only two stops to get gas and stretch our legs, my butt is practically numb, and I’m more than ready to get out of this stupid truck. But the discomfort is worth it. We’re somewhere just across the border in New Mexicowith, I hope, plenty of distance between us and any possible pursuers for the moment.
Distance enough that we’ve earned this stop. I desperately need a half-decent night’s sleep and a real shower before we continue. Raquel’s managed to doze a little in the backseat, but getting horizontal in an actual bed would do all of us some good. Wolfie included.
Despite the removal of the collar, he hasn’t shifted. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s not ready or he’s having trouble after being stuck as a wolf for so long, but I’m hoping he might be willing to try once we’re behind a closed door with a little downtime ahead of us. I’m looking forward to finally seeing his human form. It’s been a little weird thinking of him as my mate when the only form I’ve seen him in is a wolf, and that’s definitely not my kink.
