I’m the soon-to-be Queen of The Landings now.
And, go figure, that’s where we are. What better way to make a name for myself if I’m fucking with someone who obviously won’t leave me alone?
“Did you bring it?” I can hear Travis’s heavy sigh of disapproval over the hole in the exhaust, which is killing some of my horsepower, but I’m not going to be swayed. “It’s a yes or no question.”
“Yes, but—” I make a quick left, over-favoring the direction and causing the van to drift. It doesn’t like it but quickly picks up the cement and straightens us out. I could thank the guy or girl for having a decent amount of tread on the tires, but with the way I’m driving it, they might not be saying the same to me.
Not that I’m serious.
“I’m going to drop you off?—”
“No,” Travis bellows, angling his body toward me. “Levi is going tokillme when he finds out I not only brought you a gun, but I wentwithyou to find him.”
I think he should be more concerned with Rod and Juice.
Though, they shouldn’t be fully surprised. I gave them an extra forty-eight hours ontopof the twenty-four I initially gave them to bring me to Levi, and they failed.
Or they believe I got soft.
This is a friendly reminder.
“Don’t worry,” I reply tersely. “Levi will be too busy riding my ass most of the time. So I’ll distract him and you run.”
“Bay…”
I release the exhale I was holding—had been holding—because I can appreciate Travis’s concern.
However, this is bullshit, and I can’t wait anymore.
Period.
“I need to see him, okay?” I steal a quick glimpse of him before returning it to the road. “I’m not going to sit in the house like a princess in a tower, waiting for the men to tell me what I can and can’t do.” A few seconds go by when I say, “I can do this. I wouldn’t bring you along if I wasn’t sure.”
“Next two streets,” Travis utters. “There’s an industrial street with at least six different ways out. Pull in.”
I do, finding the massive parking lot seconds later. It’s spacious enough for us to get out if there are any more problems than what I anticipated tonight, just like Travis said.
I couldn’t get a solid head count on whoever was in the Mustang, but the Honda can thankfully out-steer it.
And I lost him about a block back.
My palms are sweaty on the wheel as I whip the car around so my front end meets the Mustang’s when it arrives.
There’s no doubt he’s going to see me, and when he does, he whips in, slams on his brakes, and kicks up some gravel in the process.
And, again, fucking Mustangs. His rear-end squirrels a bit before coming to a full halt.
“Stay in the car.”
“Hellno,” Travis argues as I throw open the driver’s door, and he’s shoving the 9mm in front of me. “Take this. Shoot to kill. That’s what Levi always says.”
The sheer mention of my best friend’s name guts me.
With shaky fingers, I wrap them around the barrel and give Trav a curt nod before stepping out and shoving the weapon into the waistband of my shorts.
Then I latch my focus cautiously on the Ford.
Shoot to kill.
