Page 94 of Worse Than Wicked
I realize he’s right. Dixie returns her hand to the wheel, then swoops it around again, part of a musical performance she’s putting on for herself.
We scoot up even closer, hugging a curve and staying on her bumper the whole way. When she doesn’t move toward the edge of the road, we creep dangerously close.
“Don’t clip her,” Mabel says with a grimace. “It’ll leave evidence.”
“I won’t,” Duke says, just as Dixie suddenly brake checks us.
Even at the slow speed we’re traveling, there’s no way to avoid the collision.
“Fuck,” I yell, my hand automatically shooting across the space to flatten on Duke’s chest, pinning him back against the seat as metal squeals against metal.
Mabel lets out a hysterical giggle.
Duke taps the brake, and Dixie’s lighter car swerves from the slight impact, but she corrects quickly.
If there’s one thing I should have learned about Dixie in high school, it’s that she should never be underestimated.
“It’s okay,” Mabel says, her eyes sparkling with some feral light when I glance back at her. “We can get a new bumper somewhere.”
“What now?” I ask, turning back to the road. It’s what Duke would ask.
Dixie starts to speed up, pushing the engine on her car to go faster up the steep incline.
“Now we make her pull over,” Duke growls, and he’s back in character, intent and focused like I would be.
And then I pull her out of the car and choke the life out of her.
Duke presses down on the accelerator, pushing the big SUV up the mountain after her. We catch up again soon, roaring up close, but she puts on another burst of speed.
“Why doesn’t she put on her blinker so you know to pass?” Mabel asks, impatient for the kill.
It’s the first time we’ve planned a murder together, since we were supposed to leave Mr. Harris for the Black Widow. That time, Mabel was calm talking to him online, and once she saw him, her emotions overtook reason. This time, when she knows death is near, she’s nearly giddy with excitement. I wasn’t expecting that, and it makes me wary. I may be intent on getting a perfect kill, but otherwise, I take no great pleasure in ending someone’s life.
Duke slowly eases his foot down on the accelerator, creeping up to within a few inches of Dixie’s bumper. Her head is still now, crouched lower, as if she’s leaning over the wheel, urging a little more speed from her small SUV. Ours has far more power, though we go hurtling around a curve so fast the momentum threatens to spin us off course and send us crashing down the mountain. Maybe that’s her plan, to hurl the bigger vehicle off the road with its greater centrifugal force.
Too bad she’s not a match for us in any way—our car is bigger and better, and we’re smarter and more skilled. With Mabel cackling encouragement, we roar up and clip Dixie’s bumper, sending her swerving toward the rock face on our right. She starts to go off the road, and we brake, ready to pull over when she makes contact. Instead, she jerks her wheel the other direction. The car swerves wildly, turning at a ninety-degree angle to us. Our headlights bath her face, and for one second, we can see her expression of shocked terror—mouth agape, eyes forced shut against the blinding glare, skin an unnatural pallor cast by the LEDs.
And then the rear or her car fishtails away from us, and her headlights pierce into our car. I throw up a hand, and Duke throws himself back in the seat. Mabel cries out, throwing herself against the back seat.
And then there’s only our own lights ahead. I reach over and hit the flashers, and Duke pulls to a stop.
Mabel leans up to see again, letting out a little giggle. “What just happened?”
“Stupid cunt went off the wrong side,” I mutter, cursing Dixie for never just making things easy. She was always trying to stir up drama and cause conflict with her posts online. I didn’t pay too much attention to it. It was merely obnoxious background noise, of which there was plenty in high school. But now it directly affects me.
Not only has she made things infinitely more complicated, but she’s robbed me of the opportunity to get my perfect kill.
“Should we get out?” Mabel asks. “She might be alive. Her car could have gotten stuck on a tree close to the road. We don’t want to leave another loose end.”
“And she might have seen us,” Duke says grimly. “Her lights cut across us before she went over.”
“I’ll check,” I say, reaching automatically to push up my glasses before remembering I’m wearing contacts because I’m Duke today. I brush my messy hair off my forehead instead, then add, “I was supposed to do the deed.”
“I’ll come with,” Duke says.
“I’ll stay, as planned,” Mabel says. “If anyone comes up behind us, I can pretend we saw an accident.”
“We did see an accident,” Duke says, climbing out.
