DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 12, SECTION 8

Chris was quick enough to put his hand over the door lock.

This gave Ian just enough time to pull out his gun and start whipping the guy's arm with the butt.

Shawn leaned over from the back seat and helped Chris keep the door locked. Lindsay held onto Jake tightly.

"They're saying they're done!" the guy cried out to the crowd. Already the line had broken down and people were crowding around the pickup once again. "Ashley Travis is right in there!" He shouted. "I can see her! and they're saying they're leaving!"

Ian pistol-whipped the guy's arm again with all his might.

The guy cried out and finally jerked his arm away.

Chris hurried to roll up the window. 

Now Ian pointed his pistol through the windshield and at the crowd that, by this point, totally blocked the pickup. He waved it left and right. "Get back!" he called out. "Get away! I swear to God I'll shoot! Get back!"

The guy in the soiled suit was still frantically calling out to the crowd that we were threatening to leave.

A group of men, similarly dressed in stale suits and ties, drew closer. They looked like they'd all got infected at some sleazy, frat-brother bachelor party. One of them elbowed the window really hard. He didn't break it, but I could see the others searching around the roadside, probably for a rock heavy enough to throw through the windshield.

"Get back!" Ian called, still waving his gun in a broad arc.

The pickup was now completely surrounded by a dense crowd, almost entirely men. They'd started calling out my name lustfully. Through my woozy state of heavy blood-loss, it was hard to accept the situation we'd suddenly found ourselves in: we were surrounded by a mob, each and every member of which wanted to rape me.

Someone called out, "You don't want to screw me, you stuck-up bitch? Not even to save my life? Screw you!"

A seething chorus of male voices rose up in ringing endorsement of this sentiment.

"We're leaving, right now!" Ian called out. He swiped his gun from left to right. "Clear out of the way! You don't think I'll plow your asses over? Try me!"

Not one of the men moved out of the way. If anything, more of them amassed in front of the pickup, blocking it in, and now banging on the hood. I spotted a baseball bat and a crow bar being passed through the mob, and they were rapidly making their way toward us.

Ian revved the engine again. 

"We don't have a choice," he said. "We have to drive through them."

"You'll kill them!" I stared at the dense crowd in front of us, terrified. "Ian, you can't just kill them!"

"We don't have a choice, Ash!"

Lindsay grabbed Ian's shoulder.

"Hold on!" she said. "Just a second. Just wait a second." Then she turned to me. "Follow me."

Follow her?

Lindsay handed Jake over to Shawn. She turned around to slide open the pickup's small rear window. She put both her arms through, then pulled her slim body outside.

"Hurry!" she called to me. "Before they climb up!"

Shawn called out, "Lindsay! Get back inside! What are you doing?"

What was Lindsay doing? I had no idea.

But I realized that I trusted her. If she had a plan other than running over countless people—even if they deserved it—I was willing to risk trying it.

I climbed over the seat.

"Ashley!" Ian yelled, hurt and confused. "There's no way I can let you go out there! Are you out of your mind? I'm trying to protect you here! You have to help me!"

"You won't let me?" I snapped. "What do you mean you won't let me?"

With this, I slipped out the back window.

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