Page 15 of Falling in Reverse

I don’t.

Because I haven’t choked them all out yet.

“Hold on,” I quip, raising my head up just enough to see out of the driver’s side window. “Almost there.”

“I’m not takin’ you home to your dad with a bullet lodged in your skull,” he snaps, still holding on to it. “Let off.”

A loud horn honks then, on cue, alluding that one of our guys has gotten inside the cab of the truck.

Removing my foot off the brake, the Supra’s tires let loose, and I gain traction from the hot rubber sticking to the warm cement. The car takes off a few yards before I cartwheel it around and see that the assholes from the semi have already jumped out and are raining down hell on our remaining guys.

And my stupid best friend…he opens the door, about to do a tuck ‘n’ roll, and obtain a whole lotta road rash if I don’t stop this car on a dime.

“Stay the fuck here,” he yells out when I get to a full halt before sprinting forward and lifting his own AK-47 up to start peppering bullets in their direction.

He’s not out but ten seconds before headlights show up in my rearview mirror, announcing that we either have company or an innocent bystander.

And when red and blue lights promptly shine and reflect off the forest on each side of the road, it’s not the kind of guests we want at this party.

Inhaling a deep breath of bravery, I hit the gas again and bring the front end around to face the cop head-on.

I hate this game. And I hate that I even thought of it in the first place.

Nailing the gas, the car immediately reacts with assistance to the turbo hooked up.

This thing has a buyer already. We’re supposed to be shipping it to Japan by the end of the week.

However, with the new bullet holes and the about-to-be-wrecked front end, I think we just lost out on a few grand, and Levi is gonna be pissed.

The game—chicken.

It consists of whoever can swerve out of the way first before both vehicles colliding. But, I need the cop to take a nosedive into the ditch instead of just passing by me.

I haven’t played this since I was sixteen like a dumbass and almost got someone killed. And now, five years later, I’m still the same dumbass about to play again.

The lights get closer as I speed ahead, the pig in front of me flashing his or her brights on and off in warning to stop.

I can’t, of course.

I got eight guys and Levi behind me. None are going to jail for taking what shouldn’t be riding in our streets to begin with. South Shore has no problem working with our surrounding communities, except for one.

The Landings.

The cop in front of me abruptly changes direction and swings to the right, striking the gravel shoulder and the deep dip into the grass. I don’t hear the crash over my music, but the surprise of the blacked-out SUV that just turned sideways to open fire on me does.

Bullets pepper my windshield, spider webbing the glass into threats of breaking. A slug hits the seat that Levi was just sitting in and blows the fabric and padding into bits all around me. I pull the car around for the third or fourth time—lost count already—to speed back to the boys to get the fuck out of here. The unforgiving bullets still slap into the car that is now past the point of salvageable.

Levi is going to straight up assassinate me.

But I can’t control the way this shit went down and I’m playing decoy so they can mow down the guys in the back of the semi and get it out of here.

Pushing down on my horn to warn the guys that we have company, I can’t see a fucking thing with the window becoming a maze of lines and holes.

With my palm I hit the surface, hoping for luck to be on my side, and shattered into pieces so I can see where I’m going.

It doesn’t.

Rolling my window down, I have no other choice but to stick my head out for visability. And it’s no easy feat because I’m not super tall and the tip of my black Chucks are barely touching the gas.

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