Page 39 of Twisted Revelations

“Faster! Faster!” Dax yelled as the sight of the slow-moving cars up ahead grew larger in my view. I couldn’t remember what gear I was in and didn’t have time to figure it out. The way the car was growling, I needed to change something fast.

The light silver Acura chasing us grew larger, streaking closer to us like a silver bullet. I stomped my foot on the clutch and yanked the stick down to the fourth gear. There was no fifth gear like I’d seen in other manual transmission cars, due to this car being a limited edition Boss 429 Mustang. The car stopped yelling, but its roar continued—loud and demanding.

Dax’s left hand gripped the dash as he steadied his gun in the other hand. He hadn’t complained once about my shitty driving or the strong odor of burned rubber, brakes, and clutch.

As soon as the slow-moving white car ahead of us eased into the intersection, I nearly ran up its ass before zooming around the right side to prevent the lips of Dax’s car from kissing its white ass.

The Acura giving chase barely missed it as his squealing tires screamed and a truck he swerved in front of missed his side by an inch. The chase was on now, and I was up to sixty in a forty-five zone.

Now, I could breathe and concentrate on not hitting anyone, but the sharp curve that turned us onto the interstate arrived too quickly. I took it with the tires squealing and the car leaning hard on the driver’s side shocks and axel.

As soon as the coast was clear, the silver Acura was at our side, the driver staring me in the face with his gun aimed at my head. Dax was aiming right back, ready to trade bullets with him.

“Brake!” Dax ordered. I stomped the shit out of the brakes, letting the Acura speed past us, and causing a cloud of white smoke to swallow us. By the grace of God, nothing was behind us. I hadn’t even checked. I assumed Dax had since he’d ordered me to hit the brakes. In my haste to get rid of our stalker, the slow-moving car coughed and burped, letting me know it needed something.

“Second,” Dax called in my direction since I couldn’t get the car to go faster or stop jerking. The loud scratching of gears sounded as I yanked the stick from fourth and shoved it into second to get us moving again.

“D, we are at Wayside Drive merging onto the 610 loop headed eastbound. We picked up a tail and are about to be engaged in a gunfight. We need a blackout on CCTV. Local police will be involved.”

I didn’t spot the Acura as I shifted gears with minor jerks this time. Where had he gone? The sound of us swishing past cars could be heard through Dax’s cracked window. “Roll your window down,” Dax commanded. I did as he said but glared in his direction for an explanation.

“Lean back,” Dax ordered, his tone was loud enough to break the swishing wind but ominous enough to raise goosebumps on my arm. That’s when I noticed the Acura, creeping up the passage meant for law enforcement. He’d turned onto the road, so he wasn’t aiming to ram us but to keep up with us. Cars behind me and to my right prevented me from stopping, and I had no place to go but forward.

When Dax aimed his gun in my direction, I glared at him like he’d lost his natural mind. The gun sat less than a foot from the front of my face. He closed one eye as his steady aim inched closer to my open window. I was too stunned to move or say anything. The car was driving itself because my mind was focused on Dax. This crazy ass man was not about to….

The single shot left Dax’s gun. I swear, time and space slowed and allowed me to see every action. The gun bucked, the silencer saving my eardrums. A sliver of fire sparked from the barrel as the bullet exited. The glass in the Acura’s passenger side window splintered before the force of the bullet tossed the driver’s head sideways.

The Acura, veering off the highway before it collided into the thick cement Jersey barrier swept past my view. The car crumpled into a tight wad of mangled metal, the hood and engine forced into the back, crushing the driver immediately. An explosion erupted over my right shoulder, flashing a blue and orange mixture that painted the sky a lively portrait of smoke and fire.

Thankfully, no other vehicles were involved in the crash. I was unaware of how fast I’d been going until my stressed gaze found the needle pointing at eighty.

I rolled my window back up, drenching the cab of the car in silence. My adrenaline flowed steadily; my breath chasing throaty heaves before it wheezed back in. This kind of tension was worse than having a gun aimed at my head.

My heavy foot eased off the gas as I glanced in the side-view mirror at the wreckage we’d left behind. A thick cloud of black smoke polluted the air, and only a tiny piece of the car’s silver finish was visible.

“You did well,” Dax complimented as he swiped a number on his phone and placed it to his ear.

“I’m going to need a clean-up on 610 eastbound near Mykawa Road, single car accident. If it’s attached to his body, the driver has a bullet in his head. Local authorities will be involved. Let them do their jobs, but get that bullet.”

The fuck? I glared in Dax’s direction, my eyes wide, my questions no doubt, expressed on my face.

“You shot a DG6 member dead,” I pointed out. “He’s crashed in a fatal accident that the world is gawking at and turning into a live broadcast with phones. But that’s not the kicker. Did you just call your famous assistant to retrieve a bullet from a man that probably looks like a bowl of chili?”

My thumb was aimed across my shoulder, although the sight of the scene had disappeared.

The car’s roaring engine was the last of my worries at this point. “Your assistant can make this kind of heat a non-issue?” I questioned, not caring he was on the phone.

“Yes,” Dax answered simply, pointing his words in my direction before continuing his conversation on the phone.

My face crinkled in thought before I glanced back in the mirror. Why would he need the bullet anyway? I glared in his direction once again. He sat his phone against his chest, and I could hear the person’s voice as he stared at me.

“Think, little assassin. You know why I want that bullet,” he quizzed, knowing my question before I’d asked it.

I pointed at the area where he’d placed the gun under his jacket. “No bullet, no assassination, no spooking the rest of DG6. Just a fatal car crash,” I offered, my brain latching on to this crazy shit way too fast. His answer was the sneaky smile he flashed in my direction before he went back to his conversation on the phone. Now, I had an idea of what happened to the nine we’d left in that suite.

After all this time, D’s initial warning about Dax was just hitting home. Who the hell were Beverly and I cozied up with? These men had the ability to get away with as much, if not more, than the cartel that we were running from.

On second thought, maybe the cartel was running from them.

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