Page 105 of Violent Little Thing

I could see his face through the windshield of his cruiser.

He looked like an avenging angel ready to commit atrocities to save me.

It was a very good look, and whatever woman he chose—Jessamy or Dempsey—would be one lucky woman.

He drove with a surety that was mesmerizing.

Chris, on the other hand, drove jerkily.

He was all over the road, turning all willy-nilly. No plans. No endgame. Just driving because he’d done something fucking crazy and now he was reaping the consequences.

“Chris,” I said again. “Seriously, there’s no way out here. You have to pull over.”

He roared faster, blowing a red light.

Luckily, since he’d made this block several times now, people were already pulled over and unmarked vehicles were blocking the roadway, keeping people from proceeding.

“Where’d you even get this truck, anyway?”

“Stole it,” he finally answered. “From a worksite.”

Of course he did.

Because Chris wouldn’t be caught dead in a truck like this.

He was all eco-friendly.

He drove a Prius before Teslas came out.

He wouldn’t be caught dead in a gas-guzzling truck that looked like it took four hundred bucks to fill up.

That, and it was a working man’s truck. There was dirt everywhere. Tools.

Chris had never seen dirt in his life, let alone picked up a tool.

A cop car came up alongside us, and I braced myself.

I’d put the seat belt on once I’d woken up.

If anything happened, at least the seat belt would do something.

I’d stupidly not been wearing mine in the back of the cruiser.

A mistake I’d never make again.

God, I sure hoped Gentry and Dempsey were okay.

“Fuck.”

I looked up to see what he was “fucking” and saw an officer step back from the road, a strip of something now across it.

Chris had no choice but to run over it.

The tires popped, and all of a sudden we were jolted.

I passed out again from the sudden, vicious twist.

When I woke up next, the truck smelled like burning metal and melted rubber.