Page 15 of Brutal Intentions

“Why? Who the hell are you?” Kaleb snivels like a ten-year-old boy, dabbing at his bleeding nose with his fingers.

“Mia’s stepdad,” Laz seethes. “And you know why. That picture you have on your phone of my girl.”

With a sulky expression on his bloody face, Kaleb reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out.

Just then, a truck comes roaring down the street. Kaleb and Michael both turn around to look, their faces lighting up. The driver parks behind me and gets out, and he’s freaking huge. He’s older than Kaleb and Michael, and he’s six-foot-something of seasoned, angry muscle in a trucker cap and wife beater. This must be Kaleb’s dad, and he’spissed.

He surveys the scene before him, reaches into the back of his truck, and pulls out a baseball bat.

“What the hell is going on?” He walks straight past the Camaro toward Laz without seeing me, brandishing the bat like he can’t wait to beat someone to death with it. Michael, energized by the sight of his dad, starts closing in on Laz. Even Kaleb is grinning.

Laz’s expression goes slack. “Oh, fuck.”

Oh fuck, indeed. Without thinking twice, I scooch over the handbrake into the driver’s seat and start the car. It squeals as I rev the engine and struggle to remember how to put it in gear. Stick shifts. I can’t drive goddamn stick shifts.

After a moment of fumbling, the car shoots forward past Kaleb’s dad, and I slam the brakes next to Laz. “Get in!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He snatches Kaleb’s phone from him, pulls the door open, and jumps in the car.

“Don’t stall, please don’t stall,” I beg the laboring engine. In the side mirror, Kaleb’s dad is getting closer and closer with that baseball bat. Michael has run into the garage, and he’s come out with a bat of his own.

“What are you playing at, Bambi?Go.”

I move my foot on the clutch and the engine sputters into life. Gasping in relief, I pull away from the curb and slam my foot on the accelerator. The car whines in protest. I forgot to put it in second gear and we’re only going ten miles an hour.

Laz is twisted around in the passenger seat so he can look out the back window. I see in the rearview mirror that the truck swings out onto the street and races after us, three people sitting inside it.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” I say over and over as my blood roars in my ears. I change up through second to third gear and there’s an excruciating grinding sound.

Laz stares at the stick shift and then up at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I’m panicking, that’s what. We’re going to be caught and have our heads caved in with a baseball bat. “I can’t drive your stupid car! I only took three lessons in a manual.”

“Clutch,” Laz orders, and I push with my foot. He puts his hand over mine, yanks the stick down into fourth and we slam into gear. The powerful engine roars and we shoot forward. For a second, my heart lifts.

But the truck is gaining on us.

The street ends, and I change down to second before taking the corner at speed. The back end skids out in a squeal of rubber and we nearly hit a tree. I wait for Laz to shout at me to be more careful with his precious car.

He pats my shoulder, hard, still staring behind us. “Yes! You’ve got this, Bambi. Leave them in the dust.”

The road is clear ahead. I take a deep breath.

And floor it.

The gears change smoothly. Laz whoops in delight as we race ahead.

But the truck isn’t giving up. Kaleb is leaning out of the passenger window, hollering something indistinguishable but threatening. He gets louder and louder as the truck surges up on our ass.

This is my neighborhood, and I happen to know there’s a slip road down to the river that appears almost out of nowhere on the crest of a hill. I accelerate like I’m determined to get us up and over the bridge to the main road on the other side. The truck changes lanes to our left, preparing to overtake us and cut us off. They haven’t noticed the slip road. We’re driving past it. We’re almost past it.

With my heart in my throat, I wrench the wheel to the right. Horns blare, and my stomach seems to vanish completely from my body. The Camaro grips the road and stays on course. The truck shoots past us over the bridge, and I hear a roar of frustration from the three men in the car.

I let out a scream of triumph and step on the gas, and we head down the side road and along the river.

Laz slams the dashboard with his fist and grins. “You lost them. Fuck yeah, Bambi.”

I’m laughing too hard to catch my breath. The truck will be lost in a tangle of red lights and traffic by now. I take a right-hand turn and head for home.

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