Page 107 of Ruthless Lord
“You’re good for some things, I’ll give you that. Stupid fucking boy. Now listen to me. I have some new contractors you’ll want to meet. Good, skilled men. They’ll do what you need them to do, but make sure you follow my plans. I want the Marino shipping network. I want to know how they bypass the weigh stations and skirt through inspections. I need the details, and I need them soon.”
There it is. Everything we need. I hug myself tightly, staring grimly out the van back window at a gas station across the street.Hating myself for being a part of this family. Disgusted with the whole lot of them.
“Who the fuck’s this?” More noise from Dad’s end. It sounds like he’s standing up. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“I told you, I hired new contractors. This is Micky.”
A new voice enters the conversation. “Mr. Westbrook, we got a ping on our transmission sweep. There’s a bug in the room.”
“Shit. Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sorry, sir, but it just appeared.”
“What are you talking about? You’re getting bugged?” My dad’s voice is trembling. I hear him bump into something and he curses lightly. “What’s this shit, Dad?”
There’s a long silence. I can almost feel the tension in the room. Stefano lifts the microphone to his lips and whispers one word:
“Run.”
There’s a crash and a scream. Something slams and a girl’s crying. Dad’s breathing hard, gasping for air. More slamming and crashing, and Stefano’s behind the wheel of the van. I yelp as he slams the accelerator down and we’re flying through traffic at a reckless pace as Dad shouts viciously on the far end of the recording.
“Need a hand!” he screams, sounding terrified. “Fuck! Fuck!”
“Hold on, we’re coming,” I say into the microphone.
“Fuck, get off me!” Dad grunts in pain. Another person snarls, cursing in what sounds like Dutch. Dad’s gasping and breathinghard again. “Shit, I kicked him in the teeth. Oh, fuck, he ruined my shoes, and shit?—”
Stefano rams the van around a corner. We’re hurtling toward the Westbrook mansion, wildly approaching outer security. “Hold on,” he says grimly.
I buckle myself in. “We’re almost there. Can you get outside?”
“Almost at the front door.” Something bangs and crashes. “Oh, fuck, that was Ming Dynasty.”
“Run, Dad!” I don’t care if he gets killed. But I really do care if they get that recording.
He screams and I hear another bump. This time, a door bangs open, and I hear him cursing, his shoes stumbling over wood.
“Hang on!” Stefano shouts.
The van rams into the outer gate. Sparks crash into the air as the front window spiderwebs, nearly breaking, but the van’s some fancy reinforced ex-military model, and it crashes through. I’m thrown around like a sardine, and it’s only the seatbelt that keeps me from breaking my neck.
“You okay?” Stefano shouts as we hurtle toward the front stoop.
“I’m fine, but Dad—” I’m cut off as Stefano slams on the brakes. The van spins, nearly tipping to the side.
“The door!” Stefano yells.
I reach forward, cursing, and yank it open. Someone hits the side and Dad shoves his way through, bleeding and cursing and writhing. “MOVE,” he yells.
But Stefano’s already driving. Loud pops burst through the morning, and I realize the new security guy is shooting at us. “Get down!” Stefano yells as the van roars to life, flying back down the front walk. “Hold on!”
We hit the remains of the fence again, rumbling over them. Dad gets tossed around like a doll, and I manage to close the side door with a slam. The gunshots fade as Stefano drives us away, taking a series of quick turns before slowing down to a more legal pace.
“Dad,” I say, unbuckling myself. I drop to my knees beside him.
Blood’s covering the front of his shirt. Blood drenches a wound right in his chest. He’s gasping for air, and red bubbles are crackling over his lips.
“Hurts,” he whispers. “Fuck, it hurts.”
