No time to stay and kick more ass, I stalked off.
“Should I kill him?” Tail called after me.
“Not worth it.”
This could’ve been my life.
****
Twenty minutes later, we halted at the far end of Township Road 13 in Jedburg.
Where the Friday night grudge races went down between the hottest lowcountry street teams. Out in the willywhacks. Off the grid. Off the po-po’s radar.
Nothing but hopped-up spectators exchanging money and non-legit drivers in customized hot rods using NOS for fuel burning.
Merging with the crowd of piston-heads watching ongoing action from the side of the road, nobody paid any attention to us.
My phone rang, barely audible over the competing beats blasting from Bose car stereos.
I palmed the cell to my ear. “Yeah?”
“You ready to make an exchange?” Diablo asked.
“Fuck you, fucker. I’m already here on the strip. And I brought more than the hundred you want.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem seeing this. Saved you a VIP spot up front.” Dick-blow ended the call.
I paved a punishing path through the jeering crowd, bullying my way through bystanders with four massive dudes widening the route behind me.
Then I saw what the new entertainment was.
And my fury went apocalyptic.
My heart dropped so fucking far down it might never recover again.
Shy stood in the middle of the road, not straddling the yellow line, because she goddamn couldn’t. Because she only had one leg . . .
She was so far away but I could make out how exhausted she was. How pale she was.
How close to falling down she was.
Then a car swerved so near to her I thought the bumper brushed her right leg.
She staggered, staying upright. Just barely. Hopping on her foot.
Two cars, and they were playing chicken.
With Shy.
Wild frenzy took hold of me right then and there.
“SHY!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Running Down the Devil
SHE TUMBLED TO THE ground, unable to stop her fall.
“SHY!” My heart almost ripped out of my chest.
Get up. Getupgetup!
Scrabbling around, she found something on the ground. A fucking fender that had busted off one of the cars. Holding onto the metal, she hoisted herself slowly to her foot, pain on her face, blood dripping from her stump.
I went white-hot with sheer, uncontrollable anger. So intense I was on fire for some fucking real-life retribution.
She swayed on her foot, using the makeshift crutch to remain upright. She tried limping away from the two cars gunning dangerously close to her. They were gonna clip her. Or worse.
Scanning the bloodthirsty crowd, I couldn’t locate Diablo.
“Diablo’s driving the Camaro.” I bulked up with potent rage. “He’s driving that fucking car!”
Boomer swore. Tail muttered ugly threats about dismemberment in a menacing tone.
Tucker and Cole tensed beside us.
Strafing to the start line where more modified hot rods waited for a new race, I hissed back to Boomer. “Gimme your gun.”
He slapped his Heckler into my palm.
“Tail?” I glanced back at the man who was in beast mode just like me.
“On it.”
I encouraged the dude sitting in the bucket seat of a souped-up Beamer to get the fuck out. At gunpoint.
Tail likewise took control of a revved-and-ready-to-go car next to mine.
As one, our engines thundered so loud the crowd quieted.
Flashlight start before I plowed into Diablo until his head went through the windshield?
Fuck that.
I rammed my foot down on the gas, my tires ripping rubber on pavement.
My sole attention was on Shy. And Diablo.
Tail?
I assumed he followed my lead.
I relaxed into the seat, shifting into higher gears, thrilled the Beamer burned an NOS engine, which popped the car into the fast track. No way could D escape me now. I was gunning for him. Hard.
Diablo squealed a donut right around Shy. Billowing white-gray fog from his tire burnout momentarily hid her from view.
I was within range of Diablo’s car when Tail barreled into view on the left. He maintained high speed without swerving, on a deadly course with the second car on the road.
He revved the fuck out of his engine and slammed into the side. The splintering, crushing sound of metal on metal ignited the air. His vehicle drove the asswipe’s car another twenty feet down the road.
Hoped Tail was wearing his seatbelt.
Turned out I didn’t have to worry about him. The cars screeched to a stop in their tailspin, and he jumped out. Leaping across the crumpled hood of the car he’d just busted up, he reached in through the broken window and plucked out the man who’d had half a hand in terrorizing Shy.
Goddamn Sketch. One of D’s fucking loser posse.
With fists the size of blocks and fury almost rivaling mine, Tail pummeled the deadbeat dude.
Diablo started for another run at Shy, who clung to the fender she used as a cane. I watched, shouting for her, when her hands slipped on the metal. She collapsed to both knees again, her hands bloody, too, from gripping the jagged metal.