Page 24 of Thirst in the Mountains

I don’t want to pull him over. I doubt he’ll stop and the last thing I want is a high-speed chase that will put Cutter in danger.

So I just cruise on by with my pulse racing. I try to look into his truck, but the windows are tinted way too dark. If they weren’t, I bet I’d see a familiar furry face lying on the backseat.

My car rolls forward and I get a glimpse of the man who’s making my jaw clench. Angelo is smoking a cigarette with the windows cracked. My eyes narrow on the scorpion tattooed on his neck.

“Motherfucker,” I whisper as I tear my badge off my chest and drop it onto the passenger seat. No more rules. This isn’t about the law. It’s about revenge. “You’re so dead.”

He glances at me and sucks his teeth. I grit my teeth and speed up.

It’s time to see what this car can do. Luckily, he slows down so I don’t pull him over, which allows me to race ahead.

I get a good mile or two in front of him—right at the perfect spot beside the cliffs—before I skid to a stop on the shoulder and leap out of my car with my heart pounding.

I keep my eyes down the dark empty highway as I rush to my trunk, pull out the spike strips, and haul ass to the pavement.

I kept note of the cars I passed after seeing Angelo. One car passes, then another.

He’s up next.

I crouch low, breathing steady, hands gripping the metal as he approaches.

Closer…

Closer…

I launch the strips across the highway with a grunt right before his headlights pass. He slams on the brakes when he sees them, but it’s too late. He’s going too fast. Sparks fly as Angelo’s Escalade hits it at full speed. His truck swerves. The tires screech and hiss.

He tries to gun it, but he’s rolling on his rims and he quickly loses control, sparks flying everywhere. I sprint over as the truck crashes onto the shoulder, nearly tipping over before coming to an abrupt stop.

The headlights are shining against the mountain when I get there, breathing heavily and worried that something happened to Cutter. He means so much to Lucy and I made a promise that I’d get him home alive. That’s one promise Ineedto fulfill.

I’m about to open the back door to check on the dog when the driver’s door bursts open and Angelo stumbles out, dazed with blood pouring from a cut on his nose. He’s got a wild look in his eyes.

And a gun in his hand.

He points it at me and fires.

The shot whistles past my head.

I don’t flinch. I just move.

I pull out my baton and smash it across his face.

He spins and stumbles into his truck, dropping the gun with a grunt. I snatch it up, take it apart in two seconds, and then launch the pieces over the cliff on the other side of the highway.

“Fucking pig,” he says as he takes a swing at me.

He’s too slow. Too weak.

I block his pathetic punch with my forearm and slap him across the face.

“You done?” I ask.

He grins through a bloody mouth. “I know who you are.”

“Good.”

“You’re the fucker who broke Shady’s wrist.”

---