Page 16 of Falling in Reverse

I see the rear brake lights of dirt bikes ready to take off down the street, giving me instant relief that the boys are heading deeper into South Shore territory when my car feels like it hit a pothole and begins to drag on the left side.

I know the feeling all too well—a tire blew out.

Keeping the very edge of my shoe on the gas, I force the car to carry its speed, regardless of its loss of leg. The screeching of aluminum and steel pierces my ears against concrete as I hold on to the side of the door to keep a clear sight of the road ahead. My heart, for the first time, slams violently in my chest out of fear and not a state of excitement.

I’m in some deep, deep bullshit.

Dad, Ellie, and Mae flash through my head immediately as I push my borrowed car through the vacant street and pray either they give up on me, or I can at least outrun them to where the boys will take care of the rest.

No such luck, though.

I’m spun around, my body thrown back into my seat as the car spins and whines, almost flipping on its side as I haul all of my skills out to gently slow it down. The shrill of brakes overtakes the skip of my phone linked to my speakers, and I know they’re here.

My mind quickly races at what to do, what’s the safest route, as I yank back on the latch to the glove compartment to pull out the nine-millimeter gun Levi put there. I recognize that I’m easily outnumbered. I’m positive Levi is going to notice me missing any second now if he hasn’t already.

However, it’s not going to help me if he doesn’t get his tattooed ass over here to pick up my slack.

“Put your hands up,” a loud and deep voice snaps at my left, causing me to hastily hide my weapon at my side.

Glimpsing over my shoulder, an oversized dude in a black shirt that screams for more room and thick gold chains glares down at me with the barrel of his formidable gun pointed down at my chest.

My door is then jerked open, issuing me out of my safe space as I start to slide out and shove my own weapon into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Bring her over here,” snaps another male voice to where my shirt is immediately seized and my whole body is careening forward, bumping into the asshole who didn’t give me but half a second to get out of my car.

Shoved forward, I come face to face with a guy I don’t recognize. He’s in his late twenties, with medium brown hair blended with red tints.

He’s…plain.

His face thin with hollow cheeks and dark chocolate eyes that intently study me like a freak show, and I can’t say I’m exactly thrilled to see him either.

“Didn’t expect a girl to be in the car,” he vouches flatly, spinning the chamber of his gun and clicking it back into place. His index finger floats over the trigger, but he keeps it aimed at the ground. “What’s your name?”

“Nobody,” I deadpan, lifting my chin and watching for any sudden movements.

“Nobody.” He bobs his head at my remark as if he doesn’t care. “Well, nobody, where’s my truck?”

“What truck?” The guy behind me must lift his fist or weapon to hit me because the dude in front of me raises his hand to stop that from happening.

“One more chance, girl. Your buying time isn’t lost on me, and your death is something that won’t matter.”

“You’re really sellin’ it here.”

He perks a haughty brow. “You must be either deaf, dumb, or looking for a problems if you don’t know who I am.”

I mean, should I?

Like I said, he appears pretty basic to me, and if he wanted to make an impression, he shouldn’t have brought the backup.

“I don’t roam around in a lot of social circles,” I claim as he stares back at me, and I don’t enjoy how I can’t read his expression.

It’s almost as if he’s a robot.

“I’m Ramsey Wildes.” He pins me down with his browns with just that name alone. “And if I don’t have my fuckin’ truck returned to me in the next hour, I’m going to spill a whole lot of South Shore blood.”

Welp…

I just strode into another pile of dog shit, and I might as well just off myself right here.

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