Page 42 of Twisted Hearts

In my low crouch on the floor, my body slammed into the glove box, but I was more concerned about what was happening outside than being tossed around inside the truck. Aaron half ducked while twisting his neck to glance back to see where he was directing the truck.

A loud clap rattled the back window, cracking it but not breaking it. Instinctively, I closed my eyes when pieces of glass rained down on me from someplace inside the truck. A powerful whack brought the truck to a sudden stop, sending me plowing into the seat bottom.

The engine released a loud scream as Aaron seemingly attempted to drive the accelerator through the floor to get us moving again. An elongated scratch of metal against metal filled my ears followed by a loud knocking sound that made the truck rear up. We’d run over something that was meant to keep us immobile. We may have even hit a person.

Just as fast as Aaron had put the truck in reverse, he threw it into drive and stomped on the accelerator again. All while, what I assumed were bullets, pelted the outside of the truck’s body. I cringed and drew my body into a tighter ball with each thump, but my desperate eyes remained wide as my brain conjured up answers.

My past had finally caught up with me, and Aaron was likely going to pay the price for being with me. His body twisted all over the place. With roving eyes and erratic neck movements, he checked the rearview and driver’s side mirrors before turning and angling his body so he could glance back through the cracked back window.

We were moving at a rate well past the speed limit, and the swish of vehicles sounded as we zoomed passed them. My body rocked back and forth and from side to side with every sharp twist Aaron made on the steering wheel.

The engine roared like a lion in full stride. We moved at a break-neck pace, and I didn’t know if whoever it was that was shooting at us was still chasing us or if Aaron had lost them.

“Megan, reach in the glove box and get me another gun and some extra clips,” he instructed as his eyes continued to scan the view in front, behind, and on the sides of us.

I started to rise from my spot on the floor so I could open the glove box, but Aaron’s firm hand landed on my shoulder and stopped me.

“Stay down. These motherfuckers are right on our ass.” His harsh breathing competed with the engine’s growl as he worked to keep us safe and out of danger.

I leaned back against the seat to get the glove box open. A Beretta, a Glock-17, and from my dimmed view, what looked like an HK45 rested inside the glove box. Counting the .45 Aaron had sitting on his lap, there were four guns in the cab of this truck.

After handing Aaron the extra .45 and four loaded clips of extra ammunition, I grabbed the Beretta for myself before I shut the glove box.

Seeing all those guns reminded me that Aaron lived a life as dangerous as mine, and in the short time I’d gotten to know him, I knew that guns were a part of his norm.

Just when I allowed myself to think that things were starting to calm, my body went lurching into the edge of the seat before I went sliding sideways in the opposite direction towards Aaron’s feet. We’d been rear ended.

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