Page 212 of Falling in Reverse

A sharp gasp hurtles past my lips when I move my right leg sending a shock of pain straight up my whole thigh.

“Pull the fucking truck back upright!” I hear a male voice roar out through the sound of my own labored breaths. I’m not sure if he’s a bystander, cop, or if I’m more fucked than twenty seconds ago, but I need to get the hell out of here.

Car accident.

A truck full of weed.

In The Landings.

Sounds pretty Emilio Wildes-Forsaken Crew to me right now.

The ice cream truck begins to rock back and forth, causing more glass to crack underneath the weight as it attempts to get back on all four wheels.

I’m officially done running.

With an apparent target on my fucking back in The Landings, I’m no good here. I don’t know who he has been fucking following me—Cairo, Torin, Reeve, or some other asshole—but this is too much. I’m not gonna die over pot.

After several failed attempts by whoever is trying to flip this heavy-ass vehicle—which is the stupidest idea ever—more glass and metal breaks and whines in the process.

My heart sprints dread through my entire body and the only thing I can think to do is run when I get out of here. Praying to God that my legs aren't so jacked that I can’t. I think I slammed it underneath the steering column and it’s just bruised.

Surprisingly, my poor ice cream truck rights itself, bouncing onto all four tires before the back doors are swung open within the next five seconds and the distinct thud of boots hits the metal floor with purpose.

They don’t sound like they’re looking to see if I’m okay, but who’s behind the wheel and what they have to deal with.

Before I’m about to turn around, my seatbelt is unfastened with a click, and I’m hauled from my seat to my feet. I’m flanked by another man before two sets of hands clutch onto each of my biceps.

Like a prisoner of war.

I try to move and get one of them off me, but we’re stepping on freezers and random shit that’s fallen to the wayside and my leg is screaming in tortured agony for rest already.

I’m, thankfully, lifted down underneath my armpits to the solid concrete and immediately notice how cars that are passing by don’t bother to stop to help access the damage or if anyone is alright.

Red flag number two has officially waved in front of my face as warning prickles of my flesh to take on-the-spot heed.

Scanning the area, one, two, three—six men stare at me in front of classic and rusty Cadillacs and Buicks, I think, of all different shapes and sizes. The heat and force of their fixated gazes have me shifting uncomfortably in unease as they all stay deathly quiet amongst themselves.

“Get your hands off her and load the grass.” The sharp order cracks through the air, sending my whole body snapping around toward it.

My eyes practically bulge from my head as Reeve stands there in a black tee and gray shorts that show off his tattoos. His facial features are twisted and angry, another thing I haven’t seen grace him yet and I’m confused.

But then I think about what he just said before in the woods, the movie theatre. He warned me, I didn’t listen, but did what I always do.

“Don’t touch my shit,” I growl at him, and out of my peripheral, I see a few men shift their weight around. He’s part of the Forsaken Crew, and even though I don’t know what he does, or what the hell kinda power he welds, this is what it is.

I’m a girl on the wrong side of town with drugs and a possible consequence or two waiting for me.

Reeve jerks his head. “Go take a seat, Astor.”

Astor?

“How about we pretend this never happened?” I counter slowly.

“Excuse me?” His eyes crinkle as if I’m stupid as fuck and anything I ask of him is inquiring just as much. “You’re runnin’ through my streets, and you want me to look the other way?”

I know that Reeve and I have never come to this conclusion before, but I honestly thought he’d be the easiest to get by. And, that’s not to say because he’s dumb or anything, just that he’s more easy-going.

“Reeve—”

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