Page 84 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
Percy slammed his foot down on the accelerator. What a peculiar feeling a mixture of guilt, relief, and sheer panic can produce. “It’s forgotten. It’s all over and that’s the end of it.”
Percy really needed to call Eve. At all costs, Joe must never find out that he’d kissed his brother, too. He must never find out about the whole bizarre affair. And theyprobablyweren’t related by blood anyway, so was it really so terrible?
He shuddered as he heard Joe’s head donk against the window in ashamed resignation.
“So,” Althea recommenced tentatively, “was that the funny bit?”
“Shut up, Althea!” Percy shouted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
HIGH-SPEED HIJACK
They wound their way into Tunis, all perfectly silent, just as Percy had so calmly suggested they remain. For some time, the car had been pulling slightly to the right, and a worrying, regular thump had commenced, but as each thump and bump seemed to darken the general aura that hung around the driver, no comment was made.
The group began to draw a considerable amount of attention from passers-by the deeper they moved into the city, and Percy found that although he applied more pressure to the accelerator, somehow the machine wasn’t keeping up with the performance its once-sleek exterior promised. Then appeared the series of black cars, all large, all expensive, all sparkling clean, in the rearview mirror.
“Joe, take the guns.”
Joe leaned forward and collected the three remaining guns from the seat beside Percy. “Want me to ditch them?”
“No, I want you to shoot people.” Percy flicked his head towards the convoy, gaining fast behind them.
Joe took in the sight with the expected consternation and a worrying declaration. “I don’t know how to fire a gun!”
Percy’s foot touched the brake with an involuntary gesture of shock, before he made up the second of lost time in spades, the wheels skidding beneath them. “How do you not know how to fire a gun?”
“We’re not all ‘art historians’, Percy. Let me drive.” The car swerved as Percy attempted to make space for Joe, who was forcing his wide shoulders into the front half of the car. It was more physical contact than they’d had for some time now, except for a stolen kiss in the desert, and suddenly the promise of a gun fight, the idea of hot sex in the very near future, and the thought of Joe’s full, considerable weight on him, kissing him, licking every inch of his body, just about sent Percy into overdrive.
Joe leaned across and took the wheel, and all the heated masculinity of him hit Percy. He couldn’t help himself. He wrapped an arm around Joe’s waist, sliding his hand down his stomach, every firm muscle under the shirt a comforting promise. He planted a kiss on Joe’s neck, just behind his ear. “I’m sorry for everything, and I love you.”
“Percy,” Joe whispered, melting into him.
“Almost there.” Percy ripped himself away, climbing into the back as Joe slid into the driver’s seat.
Althea, meanwhile, had never taken her eyes off the encroaching cars. “They’re gaining.”
“Head towards the airport,” Percy directed. “And drive faster. Make it go to the top of the speedometer.”
Going straight past the turnoff to the ferry, Joe muttered, “You broke the car. The car isn’t going to the top of anything.”
“Well, then…” He was right, of course, so there was only one thing for it. “Slow down. I’ll take them out. Find a small street so I can line them up.”
“Take them out?” repeated Joe, as though Percy hadn’t made himself perfectly clear.
“You’re just going to kill whoever’s in those cars?” Althea added, as though that was necessary either.
Percy settled into the seat beside her. “Only if I have to.” His eyes fixed on his target, and he held the gun steady.
Their car did slow dramatically, but it was despite Joe’s best efforts to get the thing moving faster and away from their potential victims. “Percy, don’t. You don’t know who they are.”
“Shall we send her back to the vampire, then?” He pulled the trigger, blowing out the front wheel of the car behind them. It swerved up onto the pavement and came to a relatively safe stop after a rough slide into a wall.
A second car overtook the first. Their own car hit a pothole, sending a stray bullet flying off into the side of a building. “Steady!” Percy yelled.
Joe regained control, the engine whirring sickly under his boot, then he took a sharp right. It was a narrow alley, exactly like Percy had requested, lined either side by tall buildings. The car behind followed closely. Percy shot and blew out the wheel, just as he had the last time, but this time the driver regained control without difficulty, listing to the side, but keeping an easy pace with their own sad wreckage.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He let out a hard breath, realigned his arm, pointed at the driver. “Fuck!” He squinted at the vehicle. “Fuck! It’s Tareq.” He aimed a second time, his finger firm on the trigger. “I told him I’d kill him if I saw him again…”
