Page 51 of The Highwaymen

I caught Jamie's eye again, jerking my chin toward the cars. Jamie's eyes widened in understanding, a feral grin stretching his bloodied lips. He gave a short, sharp nod, coiled and ready to move.

I held up three fingers, counting down. Three, two, one...

We burst from cover as one, sprinting flat out across the sand, weaving and zigzagging to present harder targets. Bullets stitched the ground at our heels, puffs of sand exploding around our pounding feet. My heart jackhammered against my ribs, breath sawing in my lungs as I pushed my battered body to its limits.

Jamie ran like a gazelle, all long limbs and fluid grace despite his injuries. I marveled at his resilience, the sheer force of will that kept him moving. Pain was a distant thing, adrenaline and desperation pushing it to the background.

We reached the cars and split up without a word, each taking a vehicle. I dove into the driver's seat of the sleek black Escalade, Jamie claiming a jacked-up Silverado with the big metal cow-catcher on the grill. Keys dangled from the ignitions, our captors' arrogance working in our favor for once.

The engines roared to life, headlights cutting harsh white swathes through the night. I cranked the wheel, tires spitting sand as I whipped the SUV around. Jamie did the same, the truck's big V8 growling like a feral beast.

Romeo's men scattered, diving out of the way of our vehicles.

Istomped the gas pedal, the Escalade's powerful engine roaring as it leaped forward, sand spraying from the spinning tires. The SUV's reinforced bumper caught the first man square in the chest, sending him pinwheeling through the air like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap, limbs splayed at unnatural angles, his rifle clattering to the ground.

I cranked the wheel hard, tires screeching as I whipped the vehicle around for another pass. In my periphery, I saw Jamie doing the same, the Silverado's big chrome grille snarling as it plowed into a cluster of men, scattering them like blood-spattered bowling pins.

Bullets pinged off the Escalade's armored body, spider-webbing the windshield. I ducked low behind the wheel, shards of glass raining down on my shoulders as rounds punched through. The acrid stench of gun smoke mingled with the coppery tang of blood, the night air thick with cordite and death.

I aimed the SUV at the next group of thugs, their faces white with terror in the harsh glare of the headlights. They tried to scatter, but the loose sand slowed them, dragging at their boots. The Escalade's bumper caught one square in the back, the sickening crunch of shattering bone lost beneath the roar of the engine. His body folded over the hood, broken.

I yanked the wheel, sending the broken body tumbling off the hood in a boneless sprawl. The Escalade fishtailed, tires clawing for purchase in the loose sand before finding traction. The V8 snarled as I punched the gas, the SUV leaping forward like a big black jungle cat.

Jamie's Silverado roared up alongside me, its chrome bull bar dripping gore, headlights painting the night crimson. He flashed me a feral grin through the cracked windshield, teeth white against the blood splattered mask of his face. In that moment, drenched in blood and backlit by muzzle flashes, he was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

We plowedthrough Romeo's men like a pair of mechanized predators, the screech of tortured metal and the wet crunch of breaking bone music against the desert night. They tried to scatter, some squeezing off wild shots that sparked off our armored hides, but there was nowhere to run. The desert was a vast, open killing ground, and we were the apex hunters.

I clipped one man with the Escalade's back fender, sending him pinwheeling into the night. He hit the ground hard, limbs flopping like a stringless marionette. Another fell beneath the Silverado's churning tires, his scream abruptly silenced as he disappeared beneath the big truck's undercarriage in a spray of blood and shattered bone.

The desert night erupted into a hellscape of twisted metal, broken bodies, and blood. The screams of dying men mingled with the roar of straining engines and the staccato bark of gunfire, a demonic symphony that pounded in my skull. The air was thick with drifting cordite, burned rubber, and the warm copper reek of spilled viscera.

I lost myself in the mechanical mayhem, the beast within me howling with savage glee as I reduced men to mangled meat. Rational thought fled, subsumed by the pure predatory focus of the kill. The Escalade was an extension of my body, a five thousand pound battering ram that made a mockery of flesh and bone.

I clipped one of Romeo’s men with the front fender, folding him over the hood like a blood-soaked rag doll. His rib cage caved with a wet crunch, jagged ends of shattered bone erupting from his chest in a gory bloom. I stomped the brake, momentum sending the ruined body flopping to the sand to be crushed beneath the SUV's churning tires.

The Escalade's reinforced bumper caught the next man square in the spine with a sickening crack. He jackknifed over the hood, limbsspasming, a scream gurgling through his shattered teeth. I barely heard it over the thundering of my own pulse.

The desert fell suddenly, eerily silent as the last broken body crunched beneath our tires, the night no longer ringing with agonized screams and the staccato pop of gunshots. The Escalade idled roughly, its front end crumpled and gore-streaked, crimson rivulets dripping from the grille. Shattered glass glittered in the headlights like macabre diamonds.

My hands shook on the steering wheel, knuckles skinned and bloody. Adrenaline still surged through my veins, my heart slamming against my ribs. The coppery reek of blood clogged my nostrils, undercut by the sharp stench of ruptured bowels. In the aftermath, the true carnage we had wrought became clear.

Mangled corpses littered the sand, limbs twisted at impossible angles, torsos crushed nearly beyond recognition. Shattered bone jutted obscenely through rent flesh, glistening wetly in the harsh headlights. Viscous puddles of crimson-black spread beneath the bodies, the dry desert earth drinking it in greedily. Chunks of pulped meat clung to the vehicles' grilles and undercarriages.

I stared at the carnage through the cracked, gore-streaked windshield, a distant part of my brain registering the sticky wetness soaking my clothes, the metallic taste coating my tongue. The stink of violent death hung thick and cloying, settling in my lungs like oily smoke.

Jamie's Silverado crunched to a halt beside me, its powerful engine ticking as it cooled. He stumbled from the cab, one arm still clutched to his blood-soaked side, his face a ghastly mask in the harsh headlights. But his eyes were alight with the same savage triumph burning in my own veins.

He picked his way through the slaughter, glass and gore crunching beneath his boots, a macabre prince surveying the bloody spoils of war. I levered myself out of the Escalade on unsteady legs, my abused muscles screaming in protest. The desert swayed around me, shock and adrenaline warring for dominance.

Jamie reached me and without a word pulled me into a crushing embrace, his mouth finding mine in a brutal kiss that tasted of blood and gunpowder. I clutched him to me just as fiercely, fingers digging into the lean muscle of his back, anchoring myself in his strength.

We clung to each other amidst the ruin we had made, broken bodies cooling in the sand around us.

We held each other in that gore-soaked embrace for a small eternity, the rest of the world fading to insignificance. In that moment, there was only Jamie - the heat of his body against mine, the iron tang of blood on his lips, the hammering of his heart that echoed my own. He was my anchor, the one point of stability in the spinning chaos.

When we finally broke apart, I took a moment to just drink him in. His hair was matted with blood, his torn shirt revealing the lean lines of his torso, the ugly gash across his ribs still oozing crimson. But in that moment, drenched in blood and gore, he had never looked more beautiful to me.

“We did it,” he breathed, voice rough with exhaustion. “We fucking did it, Stu.”

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