Page 79 of High Velocity

The poor woman never had a chance.

“What? No!”

Vallard swings around and seems surprised when he sees me struggling to get out from under the weight pinning me down. Shock and fear and rage fuel me enough to heave Laine’s body off me.

“I thought for sure old Mitchel here would take you out with him. That man hated you with everything inside him,” Ben calmly informs me.

He looks at me with a faint smile on his face, his arms crossed, holding the gun like some poor imitation of the classic James Bond pose. It’s almost like he’s mocking me. The thought I ever invited this man’s hands on my body turns my stomach.

“He held you responsible, you know?” he continues, before chuckling. “I thought it was quite funny, considering the old man and I were the ones who made sure his ass ended up in jail. He was a loose cannon. He was only supposed to hit banks out of state or at least in outlying jurisdictions, and just the ones we cased for him, but he decided to pick a target on his own. It was too close to home, that was his first mistake, and then he beat that old bird to a pulp. That was the end of the run for old Mitchel.”

He barks out a laugh and turns his head, letting his gaze drift out the large picture window, like he’s reminiscing or something.

“Even as a kid he was too gullible. It was so easy to get him to do shit and eat the consequences. He got the bad rap and I got off scot-free. I remember my parents telling me not to hang out with him because he was a bad influence. If only they’d known the bad influence was me.”

My brain is still scrambling to make sense of what is happening and what he’s telling me, when a soft moan draws my attention to Mitchel Laine’s body. Is he still alive?

“I told him to keep his mouth shut, no matter what, and he’d be out in no time. I’d make sure of it. Heck, he even bought it when I told him I’d keep his cut safe for him.”

He likes to listen to himself talk, that I knew about him. One of the telltale signs of a narcissist, along with his inflated sense of self, his arrogance, his callousness, and his manipulative behavior. That’s not news to me. But it never occurred to me until now that most of those traits also fit the profile of a psychopath, and that comes as a shock.

I stay quiet and let him orate, absorbing the information he gives me, while I start plotting a way out of this situation with another part of my brain.

Because of one thing I’m sure, Ben Vallard has no intention of letting me go. If I’m to walk out of here, I’ll have to make that happen myself.

With his back partly turned to me, I let Ben boast how he let Mitchel Laine believe I was involved in their arrangement, while I inch my way toward the prone man’s body. I’m sure I saw his chest move, but helping him isn’t the only reason I’m trying to get close; it’s the butt of the gun I see poking out from under his shoulder. He must’ve landed on it when I rolled him off.

“…bastard took off the moment they let him out early. I was too late to welcome him to the outside world with a bullet between the eyes. No one would’ve been the wiser, but he made me chase him clear across the damn country…”

I can just touch the edge of the gun with my middle finger and try to slide it free, but it’s stuck, wedged between the floor and Laine’s shoulder. I need to get closer.

“…and when I figured out he was headed your way, I couldn’t believe my luck. I knew all I had to do was wave you in front of him to draw him out of hiding. He always believed you were in on it. I knew he’d want revenge. All I had to do was stick close to you and wait for him to make his move.”

When he suddenly turns to face me, I move as well, pushing myself up and leaning forward over Mitchel’s upper body. I can feel Vallard’s eyes on my back, and I hope like hell, from this angle, he won’t be able to see the gun I’m trying to shield.

Jackson

For a moment we’re frozen, the sound of the second shot still reverberating in the air.

I’m the first one to move, but a strong hand grabs my arm and holds me back.

“Stop, breathe, and fucking think before you get yourself or someone else killed,” Jonas growls in my ear.

With fear and adrenaline surging through my veins, I need my stepfather’s clipped order to remind me of the basics. You don’t barge into volatile situations without intel, and right now—other than Stephanie is in that trailer and guns are being fired—I don’t have any. I don’t know how many people are in that trailer, who is armed, who is hurt. Aside from Stephanie, I don’t know fucking friend or foe. For all I know, she’s already dead, but I won’t know until I get more intel.

I force down the fear and the panic, and suck in a deep breath through my nose.

“I need an eye on the inside.”

Jonas nods at me. “Good. Yes, but not much opportunity back here.”

He’s right, there are only two windows; a small, frosted bathroom window, and I’m guessing the other is to a bedroom and has closed blinds. From the front is the better bet.

“I’ll go around. I’ll stay out of sight. See if I can find a vantage point, use the scope on my rifle.”

“No,” Ma interrupts, shaking her head furiously. “I can’t?—”

Jonas turns to her and cups her face in his hands. She grabs on to his wrists.

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