*** NEW AND IMPROVED ***
With her father missing, Shay will do anything to get him back, even if that means teaming up with a cruel gang leader and his band of psychotic men.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN.
***WARNING*** OFFENSIVE CON...
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SO COLD
Southwest Bridge was a desolate stretch of road for half a mile or so, and wasn't much of a bridge in the classical sense. There was a matte black Lexus F SPORT with dim lights, the signature front fascia and large spindle grille gave a coupe-like silhouette in the damp weather. The F SPORT had a smooth 3.5-liter V6 engine with twin turbochargers for agility and quickness to the driver's responses and would've proved critic's reviews had the driver not been so stubborn. The Shogun narrowly missed the body of the F SPORT as it swerved to avoid collision, tires smoking as it spun in a doughnut, steering wheel spinning in my hands as I did a U-turn, pulling up beside him in a flourish.
I hit the button for the window to roll down.
"What the FUCK is wrong with you!?" Cole lashed out, ungovernable in his violent temper and ill-humoured at my Need for Speed performance. His expression was foul, blackened gaze slanted. He looked murderous. "Get in."
"No," I reached over to open the door as invitation, keeping the semiautomatic in my lap obscured. "Saved a seat right here for you. Didn't keep it warm though, you look like you need to cool off a little."
"I won't tell you again. Get in the fucking car."
My expression discoloured in animosity. I hit the accelerator and did another U-turn just ahead, wheels squealing as I turned, and returned beside the F SPORT. "Happy?" My speech was contumelious with an eyebrow slanted in question.
He wasn't appreciative of my efforts. "Tell me where you want me to bury you, we'll go there now."
"I'll fire before you reach for your gun."
His gaze flickered as the semiautomatic came into view. He looked away, mouth in a humourless grin, rubbing a hand across his bristly jaw. "I find it difficult to believe you'd raise a gun at me, let alone kill me, sweetheart." Condescending bitch.
I took it as a challenge and fired a hole in his front tire. The stormy weather masked the sound of the gunshot. "Have a little faith, honey. Now a deflated tire is one thing but a hole in the neck?" I clicked my tongue. "I don't think you'll find a spare in the boot."
He swore in his mother's tongue, heavy-browed and infuriated. "You're a pussycat playing a grown man's game. I'll ruin you."
"Strike one." I held a finger up. "Strike three means time out. You're heading to the naughty step."
"Put the gun down before you hurt yourself."
"Strike two. Sexism. Sure makes my pussy tingle."
"Here's strike three," he was out of the car and yanking open the driver's door before I could react, hand around my throat as he dragged me out, mouth against my ear, "I'm going to let you keep the gun, let you feel like you're in control. Plus you're going to need it."
